


The Gift that Keeps on Giving

by Fruit_and_nut_case



Category: Call the Midwife
Genre: Angst, F/F, Fluff, Science Fiction, Slow Burn, Spy thriller, Superpowers AU, may get violent, there be uncouth language ahead
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-21
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:49:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25424929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fruit_and_nut_case/pseuds/Fruit_and_nut_case
Summary: Superpower AU (inspiration drawn from X-Men as you'll probably guess).Delia always prides herself on being brave, but maybe she sometimes gets that confused with stupid. When a piece of questionable information lands in her lap, she risks her job and her freedom to rescue a beautiful stranger from a terrible fate. Fortunately for her, this stranger has friends.Bless Delia's brave stupidity for throwing her into a world of espionage and vigilantism that leads to love, heart-ache and a depth of friendship she never thought was possible.
Relationships: Delia Busby/Patsy Mount
Comments: 46
Kudos: 65





	1. The Escape

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> This is going to be the longest story I have ever written so we'll see how it turns out. I am trying to be a gardener instead of an architect so that it actually gets written and I don't just end up with a book full of notes - anyone relate?
> 
> I can't give a time frame for posting, I'm afraid, but I have a chunk written already.
> 
> Hope you enjoy - any feedback welcome, especially because virtually no research has gone into this, so if something absurdly inaccurate is rubbing you the wrong way, don't hesitate to let me know... heads up to you scientists out there :)

Delia was in trouble. More specifically, she was in big trouble. Big, ballsy, bollicking, butt-busting, brain-bashing trouble. Oh shit. How did she get here again? Well, that’s another cock-sucking story she doesn’t want to touch. Steaming pile of horse shit. Okay, maybe the she should stop swearing and focus on the situation.

The situation is this. 

Delia, a 5 foot 2 inch slip of a woman (granted she is quite proud of her broad shoulders; musculature is no mean feat), plus one medical gurney bearing an unconscious female of above average height, versus a fucking compound of armed guards and rat-warren tunnels, not to mention a fuck-tonne of the earth’s crust between her and freedom above.

Hallelujah. If only she could speed-dial the Angel of Death. Oh wait, that fucker died two years ago. So much for his spandex and special powers. 

“Think Busby, think.” Delia muttered to herself. She poked her head cautiously out of her hiding spot behind a corner of the medical level corridor, a hail of gunfire forcing her back with a jolt. She’d only been working in The London five months and she’d already gone and cocked it up. These bastards were not people you wanted to double-cross. And what was she doing? You guessed it. Double-crossing.

Double-crossing so rapidly, apparently, that her left eye was pointing right-ways and her right, left, and now she was all-turned around. Or maybe that was the impending panic attack.

Taking a few deep-bellied breaths, Delia manoeuvred the gurney back down the corridor. Her patient’s head flopped limply to the side, spilling red hair over a pretty face. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Delia had a bloody weakness for pretty women. Her Mam always said it would get her in trouble.

Delia released a crazed laugh as she pushed through Operating Theatre One to the wash-station the other side, taking a short cut to the adjacent corridor. If only her Mam could see her now. She had been so proud when Delia got the nursing gig at The London of all places, prestigious institute for ‘The Gifted’.

Yeah, she was Gifted alright. Shame it didn’t really help in this Situation with a capital Shit. There were only so many illusionary fireworks she could throw at the opposition before their one brain cell kicked in and they figured out her distraction technique. Besides, if she tried anything more elaborate, all it would take would be one twitchy trigger finger and she’d be done for. They were only stun bullets, but still, she didn’t much fancy being captured.

Delia froze as she heard booted feet pounding down the corridor outside the wash-station. Great. She was trapped. On the gurney, the redhead shifted, letting out a small grumble.

Shit, shit, shit! Not now! Delia tried to control the rising swell of panic forcing its fist through her gut.

“Go back to sleep.” She whispered frantically. The redhead - Patience Mount, Delia knew from her file - didn’t move again. Delia turned her attention back to the movement outside. Leaving the gurney for one second, she moved past the row of stainless steel sinks to slowly push open the double doors, peeking out of the crack.

WHAM!

As Delia flew backwards, she swore she visualized comic book colours so hard that she manifested a jagged cartoon text box above her head. Her powers were funny like that. Haha.

Delia wasn’t laughing as she tangled with the legs of her patient’s gurney, sending it spinning into the centre of the small space. Through fuzzy eyes she watched a pale arm drop off the side of the trolley. The fingers twitched.

A series of thick, black boots stomped through the doorway at Delia’s eye level and she struggled to sit up, rubbing her forehead, anxiously trying to think her way out of this. There was a lot of shouting all of a sudden, and half a dozen guns were pointed in her aching face. 

Before she could position herself defensively in front of her unconscious patient, the woman sat up. Half a dozen helmeted faces paled, and suddenly the guns weren’t pointing at Delia anymore.

Delia felt a strange static saturate the air, making the hairs on her arms stand on end. Oh boy. She hoped Patience Mount was worth the trouble.

The guns fired. The bullets moved as if in slow motion towards their target as Delia threw herself to try and push the gurney out of the way. She landed painfully on her arm, only nudging the wheels, but she needn’t have bothered. The bullets never met their target, simply disintegrating into a fine, black dust in thin air.

Delia blinked, looking up at the redhead. Her auburn hair floated ethereally around her shoulders, but unnervingly, her eyes were still closed and her face relaxed, as if in sleep. A second wave of bullets turned to dust half a metre away from her pale face. Patience raised an arm.

The black-clad goons stumbled back a step, unsure of the magnitude of the threat. “Stand your ground!” One of the forward figures commanded. “You,” he pointed at the man to his right, “Grab the small one.” Delia scrambled to her feet as the chosen lackey loomed closer. She reached a hand behind her back as if she were reaching for something from the waistband of her scrubs. When her hand returned into view, her opponent saw a small handgun held there, which Delia brandished menacingly.

“Stay back!” She yelled. “These are no stun bullets.”

The apparent commander scoffed. “Don’t listen to her, she’s an illusionist. Whatever it is it’s not real.” Her opponent faltered all the same, and Delia took the opportunity to throw a conjured dagger at him from her other hand. The man ducked on instinct and Delia used the diversion to dodge around the gurney like a shield, dragging it back towards the operating theatre.

She realised that she was buggered when the window through to the theatre revealed more troops, seconds away from bursting through the theatre doors. The moment the doors swung open, a cold, feminine hand closed around Delia’s wrist and Patience Mount opened her eyes.

A shockwave snapped out from the woman on the gurney, rolling harmlessly over Delia but absolutely obliterating everything else in its path. Delia watched in horrified awe as those who were once people turned instantly to ashes; guns, visors, clothes, flesh, everything in the room and through to the next was consumed, until the wave seemed to deflect from the walls and recoil back into the body holding onto hers. Patience Mount fell back, unconscious, onto the gurney. She would have looked peaceful if not for the furrow in her brow, and she would have looked innocent, if not for the desolation around her.

Delia scarcely had time to recover from her shock before three other people inexplicably materialised in the room as if she had conjured them up herself. Except these people were solid, and they were like nothing she could have imagined. One of them had wings, like a bloody dragonfly! And there was a nun too!

“Gosh,” exclaimed the winged woman with the blonde pixie-cut as she observed the damage around her, “You could have got us here a moment faster, Winifred. At least the building is still intact.”

“Well, I’m sorry Trixie, maybe next time you can fly us all in here, and I wouldn’t have to burst a blood vessel trying to teleport us thirty storeys beneath the ground!”

“Now, now, you two,” chided the third, stalwart figure, “Simmer down, it looks like Patsy’s done the hard part for us.” The three figures turned to look down at the sleeping redhead with mixed emotions on their faces. “Quickly now, there will be others on the way…oh, good evening.” The woman caught sight of Delia who was trying to hide inconspicuously in the gloom from the exploded lights. Was it really a good evening? Delia supposed it might be for some. “Who do we have here then?”

Delia blinked as she found three sets of eyes blinking back at her expectantly.

“Friend or foe?” The blonde drawled impatiently as she took an intimidating step forward, her wings extending to fill more space.

“Calm down, Trixie, the poor lass already looks like she’s about to pass water.” The stern woman with the Northern accent said. Delia felt a flare of indignation at that. This was not a normal Tuesday for her, and she felt that she was coping rather well given the circumstances. Straightening herself up, Delia smoothed down her soot-smeared scrubs and held out her hand to the blonde.

“Nurse Busby. Delia Busby.” She said with all the authority she could muster, which was admittedly not very much. The blonde sniffed, eyeing her blackened hands, and Delia thought that she probably wouldn’t want to touch herself either if put in that position. She was coated in human remains after all. The thought made her blanch slightly. “Um, I was trying to get Patience out of here.” She clarified, gesturing to the unconscious woman who these three seemed so familiar with.

“Quite unsuccessfully it seems.” The so-called Trixie jibed.

“Hey,” Delia grumbled, “I had a plan…It just wasn’t going the way I’d envisioned it.”

“Oh dear,” the stern woman sighed, pinching her nose, “we don’t have time for this.” She moved to the gurney. Delia watched in interest, hardly surprised anymore, when the woman’s exposed skin took on a metallic sheen and she picked up Patience Mount’s long figure as if it weighed nothing. “Come on Winifred, let’s go.” Delia was still watching when the three strangers gravitated together, realising that if they left without her, she would be toast just as much as the poor fellows under her feet.

“Wait!” Delia blurted, feeling panic creep in at the edges once more, “Please, you can’t leave me here, I’ve risked everything trying to get her out.”

“Why?” Trixie questioned bluntly. “Why were you trying to get her out?”

Delia didn’t have an easy answer for that. “I can help you.” She said instead. “I’m Gifted too! And, I can tell you anything you want to know about The London. If you don’t want me, just drop me off anywhere, I swear, I won’t be any trouble.”

“They’ll find you wherever you are, you realise?” The older woman of the group questioned. Then she seemed to weigh up the options for a split-second. “Oh for Heaven’s sake! Come on girl.” Delia grinned in relief and moved towards them.

“But Phyllis!” The prim woman with the habit objected, “You know how strict Sister Julienne is about the rules. No guests at Nonnatus without official clearance from the Sisters.”

“Yes, yes, and what about ‘Love thy neighbour’, eh? Right now, Nurse Busby is looking pretty neighbourly to me. We’ll deal with it later, but right now we have to go.”

The two women stared stubbornly at each other for another precious second before Winifred relented with a huff. “Fine, but I want it on record that I do not agree with this.” She side-eyed Delia as the other two grabbed her shoulders, Phyllis with Patience in her arms. “Hurry up then, hold on!”

Delia lurched forward and awkwardly grabbed a fistful of the nun’s black robe. “Tap your heels and think of home, Dorothy.” The winged woman muttered, seeming to steel herself for something. Delia’s relief at being allowed to tag along suddenly curdled to a leaden dread at the whole lot of unknown that lay ahead. And then the world closed in.


	2. The Awakening

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyo, decided to post the next chapter today since the last was so short - hope you enjoy!

When her feet hit solid ground again, Delia felt like she had just been squeezed through a tube of toothpaste. Her knees seemed to slop down to her toes, no longer able to support her, and she found herself on all fours, vomiting all over Trixie’s stylish red pumps. They were really rather nice shoes, she mused to herself as she emptied her stomach on them.

“Jesus!” Trixie shouted, jumping away, looking a little queasy herself.

“Language!” Winifred chided, going ignored as Trixie fumed and pried off her soiled pumps, her wings twitching in agitation.

“That’s it. What are we doing with the Welshie? I vote for letting her run back to her fields.”

“Don’t be callous, Trixie.” Phyllis’ voice bit through the tension. “They’ll be on to her like flies on sheep-shit. The only safe place for her now is Nonnatus.” Trixie bit her tongue, still looking sullen, and set about prying her stockings off. “Winifred, secure the flat. Cynthia must have gone out.”

As Winifred set about checking the bedroom and bathroom, Delia feebly rose to her feet. She wiped her mouth, aware that her sweaty, sooty state of appearance had just grown ten times worse with the addition of bile. Still, she had pride enough that she didn’t much like being talked about in the third person while in the room. She looked around her. They seemed to be in the kitchen-living area of a small flat; the type of short-stay rental that hotel chains like to monopolise Airbnb™ with. There was a laptop perched precariously on the low coffee table. Blueprints and scattered papers acted as coasters for used coffee mugs. Or were the mugs acting as paper weights? Delia figured there were more important questions right now.

Phyllis walked to a ragged, fake-leather sofa against one wall, laying down her burden. Her skin returned to its original, flesh-soft appearance as she fussed with the sofa cushions for a moment, trying to make Patience Mount’s tall figure fit more comfortably on a surface much too small for her. The woman’s long legs draped off the end, calves exposed by the hospital gown, and Delia thought to herself that her bare feet would get cold.

“Right, you.” The stern woman said, turning to Delia and running her eyes over her with an assessing gaze. Delia suddenly realised that she had no idea who these women were. What if they were worse than the Londoners? What if instead of wanting to capture and torture her, they’d outright murder her and throw her in the Thames?

Phyllis cut through her internal panic. “Sit.” She ordered, pulling out a chair from the puny kitchen table on the opposite side of the coffee table. Delia plucked self-consciously at her scrub top as she perched on the fake-wooden chair. She hoped these people would get their deposit back with her smearing up the furniture. “First things first. My name is Phyllis, the habited one is Winifred, and this is Trixie.” Phyllis gestured at the blonde woman currently draping a blanket over the figure on the sofa. Trixie gave a curt nod of acknowledgement toward them before joining Winifred in what must be the bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

Delia blinked, uncertain whether she was meant to reply. Thankfully Phyllis continued, sitting herself down on an adjacent chair. “But I suppose you already gathered that. And you’re Nurse Delia Busby, yes?”

Delia nodded.

“How long have you been working at the London as a nurse, Delia?”

Delia thought that this felt like some kind of hallucinated job interview. “About five months now.” She replied cautiously.

“Okay, and were you overseeing Patsy here as a patient?”

“You mean Patience?”

Phyllis chuckled. “If she hears you calling her that, she’ll dust you.” Delia paled considerably. “I’m joking, lass.” The older woman said warmly, before turning sober all of a sudden. “It’s not a joking matter, mind.”

“Is she a friend of yours?” Delia ventured asking.

That seemed to take Phyllis off guard and she paused for a moment. “More like family, lass. But that is not the pressing matter right now. I need you to tell me the last time Patsy was given a sedative.”

“Well, I wasn’t assigned to her exactly, but I did grab this.” Delia reached into the trouser pocket of her scrubs to produce a crumpled ball of paper she had ripped off the redhead’s patient chart.

Weathered hands reached for the papers and smoothed them out against the kitchen table, pushing aside a couple of files with the word CLASSIFIED etched across them in bold marker. All manner of documentation slid off the other end of the table at the move, reminding Delia of the penny sweeper machine in Tenby arcade, where her father used to take her. “Good girl.” Phyllis gave her first smile of approval, and Delia felt, for some reason, like she’d hit the jackpot. “This’ll do nicely.”

A moment was spent in silent anticipation as Phyllis produced a pair of reading glasses and looked over the papers more thoroughly. Delia’s eyes drifted to the redhead on the sofa, observing the steady rise and fall of her chest under the blanket. A strand of her auburn hair was lying over her slightly parted lips, wavering with each exhale. She had nice lips, Delia mused absentmindedly, before blushing at the inappropriate thought and snapping her eyes abruptly back to the strict face in front of her.

“We’ll need to give her another dose.” Phyllis stated in her no-nonsense manner.

This caused Delia some alarm. “You want to keep her sedated?” She questioned, having only ever seen the woman in a drugged-up state. She thought of her Mam and her own family. Then again, maybe having your kin permanently unconscious wasn’t a bad thing in some cases.

“Well,” Phyllis began gruffly, “We need to take precautions. At least until we can get back to Nonnatus House where we are better equipped to care for her. You’ve seen what she can do when she is unstable, I believe?” 

Delia nodded again, trying not to remember.

“We don’t want her having a nightmare and lashing out in her sleep, or worse, waking up and panicking.” Delia wondered what kind of mental health history the woman had if even those closest to her were scared of her losing her mind. Somehow she still felt responsible for seeing Patsy to a place of safety, and part of her was wary to believe everything this stranger was saying, but perhaps it was better to be safe than sorry. She didn’t know the woman personally after all. Perhaps she was evil, or psychotic. But Delia didn’t think so.

“Do you have the correct medication?” she asked.

“Of course, we came prepared.” Phyllis told her, standing and moving to a cabinet in the kitchen. “I am trained as a nurse myself.”A nurse was not the first profession that came to mind when Delia thought of the gruff Northerner. “Why don’t you go and take a shower, lass, I’m sure you’re craving one. I’ll set some clean clothes outside the bathroom door.”

“And whose clothes would they be, hmm?” Trixie interjected as she breezed through to the living space in a fresh outfit. A loose cardigan was draped over her shoulders, obscuring her wings.

Phyllis chose to ignore her accusatory tone. “Cynthia is about the same height, and she hasn’t needed to do as much of the dirty work. I’m sure she’ll have something suitable. Why don’t you go and have a look, Trixie?” 

The blonde rolled her eyes, but before heading back the way she came, she paused, turning to Delia. “What kind of Gifted are you then?” she asked impolitely.

“Trixie, go and find some clothes. And find something for Patsy as well.” Phyllis shut her down, and Trixie wandered off with a mischievous grin at the older woman’s frustration.

“Pay her no mind.” Phyllis said, almost kindly. 

Delia shrugged, expecting Phyllis to be curious about her Gift as well and follow up the question, but to her surprise, Phyllis simply said, “Off with you, then.” And off Delia went.

Closing the bathroom door, she was overjoyed to find a lock on it, relishing in the small symbol of security it provided. She felt a little reluctant to leave Patsy unguarded after all the effort she had spent trying to save her life, but she trusted these women enough in that moment not to kill her at least. 

Delia slumped back against the door and closed her eyes. Heaving out a great sigh, she rubbed her face. Her hand caught the tender spot on her brow where she had been hit earlier, and she suddenly felt very young and very vulnerable, a yearning for home stabbing her heart like her Mam was trying to sew Wales into it. Moving to examine her face in the mirror, Delia hung her head, and noticed that her hands were trembling. She growled in frustration, and gripped the sides of the sink, blinking back tears. The only way is forwards, Delia, she told herself firmly, and rallied to stand upright again.

She turned the shower on and began to strip. The first douse of water over her grimy skin was a slice of heaven in her hellish day, and she took a moment just to stand there and let the steam roll around her. Perusing the miscellaneous bottles of half-full shampoo, Delia chose the one with a picture of some raspberries and lathered up her hair. She didn’t think she’d ever be able to lather enough to get the bits of dead human out, or breathe in enough chemical raspberry to replace the smell of carbon in her nostrils. From the other side of the bathroom door, she could hear the murmur of voices even with the shower running. A knock made her heart palpitate and she froze as the water streamed around her.

“Clothes.” Came Trixie’s muffled voice, and Delia allowed herself to breathe again, finishing up as quickly as she could. Once she’d retrieved her bundle of pilfered clothes, she heard the front door slam and the voices get a little more animated. She supposed this must be the elusive Cynthia returning. Resolving that she would have to re-use her underwear, Delia pulled on the simple white t-shirt she was given, which was a little tight around the chest. She winced at the long, modest skirt she was expected to wear, but slipped it on anyway, feeling like a Victorian. She had to roll it up at the waist. Trixie probably chose it because she knew her short legs would trip over the excess material. A couple more doors banged, and the voices diminished.

Figuring it was safe to re-enter the living space, Delia cracked the door open and sidled out of the bathroom. Remarkably, she found herself alone with only a sleeping Patsy for company. It sounded like the others were holed up in the bedroom, in which case, Phyllis had probably administered whatever drug she wanted to give the redhead. She noticed that the laptop and all of the paperwork were gone.

Stepping carefully over to the other woman, she bent down to observe her more closely. That strand of hair still lay tenaciously over her mouth, and Delia reached out a hesitant finger to brush it behind her ear. Patsy’s forehead was pinched, as if under tension. Was she in pain? Delia didn’t think she could be if she was properly sedated. Wary to touch her, she delicately caught up Patsy’s wrist to check her pulse. It was nothing out of the ordinary. She tucked the blanket in more securely and pulled it around her feet, which she saw were still bare. A neat pile of clothes was folded on the coffee table, clearly waiting to be put on, and she plucked up the socks sitting on top, tugging them over the woman’s slender feet.

Looking down at her, Delia was reminded of why she was in this mess in the first place. Weeks of countless rounds on the hospital ward meant that she saw her nearly every day, and for some reason, she felt an inexorable pull to the other woman. And then she stumbled upon a deeply disturbing piece of information, and the whole shit-show that was now her life commenced.

Sighing, Delia headed over to the kitchenette, hoping to find some tea, when, to her disappointment, the door was tugged open again. Trixie barged through, a bickering Winifred close on her heels. Phyllis followed them out of the bedroom in front of a small, mousy woman. They were all carrying some form of luggage.

There was a lot of noise, the four of them clearly not agreeing on something. Delia didn’t care enough right then to pay attention to what they were arguing about, she was so tired now that the adrenaline was waning. Trying to blend into the background, she took a glass off the draining board and filled it from the tap, sipping water slowly as she observed the back-and-forth going on in front of her.

“And her –“  
“Delia.”  
“Whatever her name is! We don’t know a single piece of information about her that can be corroborated.”  
“That’s a load of codswallop! Cynthia has already shown you her file, Winifred.” Delia raised an eyebrow at this. They’d looked her up already?  
“What if she’s a Londoner spy?”  
“What I want to know is why you wanted to sedate Patsy again, Phyllis? She’s had enough drugs pumped into her. Goodness knows you’re only going to make her more unstable!”  
“Ladies, you are missing the urgent matter at hand, which is that time is of the essence! By the time we’ve stopped lollygagging, half of London will have been turned over in their search for us.”  
“I need more time, Phyllis, you know how jumping takes it out of me. Otherwise we’ll have to go on foot.”  
“I don’t mind how we go. I agree with Phyllis, we just need to go.”  
“And how do you suggest carrying an unconscious, six-foot woman around London, huh?”

Unimpressed with the team communication on display, Delia tuned out again. Her eyes drifted inevitably back to the second overlooked person in the room, only to drop her water glass and have it shatter on the fake-wooden floor. Patsy was looking directly at her, eyes open.

Silence descended over the room as everyone spun to frown at Delia. She blushed. “Sorry.” She eked out.

Patsy chose that moment to make her consciousness known, clearing her throat and stiffly sitting up, her long legs folding gracefully underneath her on the sofa. It was quite comical, really, how quickly the other four women spun in her direction at the movement.

Trixie gasped, drifting closer to her friend. “Patsy!” her head snapped to Phyllis. “But how? Phyllis gave you another sedative.”

“No, Phyllis did not.” The Northerner refuted, coming forward and placing a hand on the redhead’s shoulder to steady her. “Cynthia’s entrance quite interrupted me, and then I believe there were some more urgent matters we had to discuss.” 

Cynthia looked a little apologetic as she too moved closer. “It’s good to see you, Patsy.” She offered, as Winifred skulked curiously at her side.

Delia surreptitiously filled a second cup of water and padded around the shattered glass to place it on the coffee table in front of the redhead. Patsy’s mouth tried a grateful smile, her lips lifting in one corner as their eyes snagged. Delia felt her chest warm slightly. She smiled in return and stepped out of the way to clean up her mess.

Patsy reached to pick up the glass, her hand shaking slightly as she drew it to her lips and took a small sip. After a moment she drank more greedily, placing the empty cup back on the table and sitting back, closing her eyes. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, not sure what to do. They clearly couldn’t sedate the poor woman again now that she was awake, but her mental state had yet to be determined. Delia felt nerves tingle through her limbs, settling heavily in her stomach.

“Do I have something on my face?” Patsy spoke eventually, raising one eyebrow with practised ease and opening her eyes. They were clear blue, Delia noticed. Similar to her own.

“Oh, thank Goodness!” Trixie breathed, “I thought you were going to vomit. I’ve had enough of that today already!” she snarked, glancing at Delia with an unexpected wink. The tension in the room abated slightly, and the redhead let out a breathy chuckle. She looked exhausted, though she had just woken from a nap to rival Sleeping Beauty. 

“How are you feeling, Patsy?” Phyllis enquired.

“I don’t think I’m going to vomit.” Came the rich RP accent once more, “But I do have a smashing headache. Did someone punch my lights out?” It was not how Delia expected her to sound. Not that she had imagined it much, no. It wasn’t like she had spent weeks of ward rounds trying to piece together this intriguing woman in her head.

“Actually, it was you doing the punching.” Winifred chimed in. The tension in the room buzzed again like a swarm of bees.

“What?” Patsy whispered, looking winded, as if someone genuinely had punched her.

Trixie sent a glare Winifred’s way. “What do you remember, Patsy?” she asked more gently than Delia had heard from her before.

The redhead took a deep breath and retreated into her head. Tinnitus flared up in Delia’s ears at the silence. She was quiet for so long that Phyllis decided to cut in. “Never mind that. Why don’t we see if you can stand, and we’ll get you cleaned up and dressed so you feel more human.”

“More human.” Patsy repeated shakily. “Phyllis what happened?” Her voice was low and precarious, and her gaze drifted over their faces pleadingly before focusing on Delia loitering at the back. Something sparked behind her wild eyes. “Oh god. Oh no.” Her eyes slammed shut, and she brought fists to her face, as if to push them into their sockets. “Please tell me I didn’t.”

They all looked at each other uneasily, unsure exactly to what she was referring, but guessing nevertheless. “The past is in the past.” Phyllis said firmly. “And we’ve got to focus on the present or else we’ll all be history. Doctor Mount, I hope that I can count on you to be a part of this team? Our first priority is to get back to Poplar undetected. Hopefully Winifred has had enough time to recharge her batteries.” Delia was shocked at such a severe approach to someone who was clearly suffering trauma. But it seemed to do the trick as Patsy reigned herself in. Delia could almost see the barriers being erected to stem the tide of grief. Surely that wasn’t healthy. But neither was being caught and captured, Delia supposed.

The redhead rose numbly to her feet with Phyllis’ support, and Trixie helped her to the bathroom along with the pile of clothes. Only when the door closed behind them did the tension levels drop a little. “That could have gone worse.” Cynthia said eventually. She had a very soft voice that did not disturb the solemnity which had settled like snow around them. Delia wondered if she was Gifted.

“Indeed.” Phyllis commented, and then, always business, she carried on. “Winifred, how long do you need until you’re ready? Can you take all of us?”

Winifred seemed to shrink a little as the mantle of responsibility was laid over her shoulders. “Like I said, teleporting takes a lot out of me. I’ve been training really hard for this mission, but I’ve already made two huge jumps today. I think I can take one more, but I might only manage two other people.”

“Fine.” Phyllis said without judgement. “You’ll take Doctor Mount and Nurse Busby. The three of us will make our own way back. I know a favour I can call in for a car.”

“But – “

“No buts. That is final. Julienne will understand, Cynthia’s sent her Nurse Busby’s file, and I’ll take full responsibility for any fallout. Our priority is to get Patsy back with minimal damage. That was the mission. I don’t want to find out what will happen if we leave it any longer now that she’s awake.”

“Is she really that unstable?” Delia said the words before she even registered that she had spoken. She couldn’t help it. She wanted to know that she had not rescued a time bomb and put people’s lives in danger. For some reason she felt that Phyllis was being unfair to the woman in the other room. But what did she know? Okay, so the woman was flagged as a security concern, but all Patsy’s medical chart had said about her Gift was ‘Molecular Manipulation’. That could refer to so many things. What she saw Patsy do without even fully being conscious was devastating. She could see how dangerous that kind of power was. Yet, Patsy had been doing it in self-defence, and she had saved Delia to boot. The carnage didn’t go further than the guards threatening them. No, Delia had to believe that even acting sub-consciously, Patsy had a measure of control over herself.

Phyllis elected not to answer.


	3. Nonnatus House

Ten minutes later found Delia laden with three luggage bags and a lap top case strapped across her chest. She felt like a mule. An underfed mule at that. But hopefully she would soon be in a place of safety. She’d take a jail cell right now if it meant she could put her feet up, and maybe get a lump of stale bread.

Winifred wobbled towards her with Patsy leaning on her shoulder, the redhead’s freshly washed hair leaving damp marks on her crisp, plaid shirt. 

As the three of them grasped arms, the other three women in the room looked on with serious faces.

“Be safe.” Phyllis warned. “We’ll make contact soon, but expect us tomorrow afternoon at the latest. If we are not there by then, something has gone wrong.” Winifred swallowed and nodded, her palm sweaty where it was resting against Delia’s forearm. 

Trixie stepped forward, seemingly reluctant to lose eyes on the friend she had just recovered. “See you on the other side, sweetie.” Patsy nodded and patted Trixie’s shoulder. As Winifred took a deep breath and held it, screwing up her face like she was constipated, the winged woman glanced icily at Delia. “Watch yourself, Welshie.” She threatened.

Delia was pretty sure that the last thing the others saw was her incredulous, terrified face before they were gone.

~*~

It was a source of great pride to Delia that this time she was able to hold in the contents of her stomach long enough to heave into a conveniently placed vase nearby. Not that she had much to throw up at this point. 

Her pride was greatly diminished, however, when she realised that this was the first impression she would leave upon the residents of Nonnatus House. And the resident (singular) staring back at her did not look impressed. She tried to grin, but with the spittle dribbling down her chin and the china vase in her hands, she’s pretty sure she just looked guilty. Guilty of what, had yet to be determined.

Winifred had seemingly teleported them into the entrance hall of an old manor house. Shadows draped the walls, making the space seem multi-dimensional; both suffocating and endless all at once. The wooden panelling only added to the gloom. It was deep night by now, and Delia’s evening escapades in The London were starting to feel like a distant nightmare, exhaustion lending an underwater quality to her memories of the past few hours.

If it was possible, a woman sterner than Phyllis stood in front of them, silhouetted by yellow light spilling from an adjacent room. Her oaken arms were crossed against an ample bosom, and a large wooden cross hung from her neck where Delia would have better envisioned dog tags. “What is going on here?” She addressed Winifred, but did not move her disdainful gaze from Delia and the decorative vase she was trying to surreptitiously hide behind her back.

“We need to see Sister Julienne.” Winifred said, her voice reed-like and wavering.

“Is that so?” The scary woman raised an unimpressed eyebrow. Delia felt the distinct feeling of dread that she got when her Mam caught her sneaking in late, or when the ward matron would lay the shit-icing on the shit-cake of her shit-shift. The woman’s tank-like frame did not budge an inch.

It was then that Patsy made her presence known, stepping further into the light and straightening her lean frame. “Sister Evangelina.” She began, her crisp pronunciation commanding attention. The nun’s beady eyes snapped up at that, her crossed arms falling limply to her sides.

“Is that Patsy Mount I see with my own two eyes?” she gasped. Patsy gave a tired smile. “Oh come here, child! Come here.” The nun surged forward and pulled the redhead into an enveloping embrace, which Delia did not envy.

When she pulled back, Patsy looked like she was standing upright by stubborn will alone. Winifred didn’t appear much better, and Delia didn’t want to imagine the state she was in. The nun looked them up and down and tutted. “Come, you three,” she instructed, “Sister Julienne will be pleased to see you. We’ll get some food in those bellies and then you can catch a good night’s sleep. In the morning we’ll start getting some answers.” She added gruffly, side-eying Delia, who was still gripping the vase, luggage strewn about her feet, feeling foolish.

~*~

Age had treated Sister Julienne with grace. Considering that the woman had just been woken from a restful slumber, Delia thought that Grace could be her Christian name, what with how calmly she was taking the situation, and the hospitality she was showing to a total stranger. A part of Delia wanted to remain on guard, cautious to accept the honest kindness in case it was all a ploy to wear her down before the inquisition began. She chose not to care anymore as she spooned her second helping of lamb stew into her mouth, reaching for another piece of buttered bread.

Across the modest kitchen table, Patsy did not seem to have such an appetite. She pushed the food around her bowl with her spoon, taking a measly mouthful before giving up and placing the spoon back on the scarred wood of the table. Winifred had already finished and looked to be on the verge of nodding off.

Sister Julienne had suggested that they forgo the formality of speaking in her office this evening and take comfort in the cosy kitchen. Night time provided enough privacy, and it was evident that the pied piper of sleep was playing its soporific tunes. Satisfied that their energy had been replenished a little by the food, the older nun began to speak.

“It is good to make your acquaintance Nurse Busby. I must admit that I have read your file. You seem to be quite the accomplished nurse, and, from what I gather, we must thank you for your part in recovering Doctor Mount.” Delia glanced at Patsy across the table, who looked away when their gazes met. It was strange that Delia felt so familiar with the other woman when they had not spoken two words to one another. She supposed that Patsy did not view her the same way. After all, she had seen her face for the first time only this evening, not for the months that Delia had familiarised herself with the redhead. “If you are amenable,” the Sister continued, “We can discuss the finer details of your stay here tomorrow, and I can answer any questions that you might have.” 

And I can answer yours, Delia thought wryly, though she gave a pleasant smile and nodded. “Thank you Sister. And thank you for your hospitality, it is much appreciated.”

Sister Julienne smiled back. “Not at all, especially after the day that I am sure you have had.” Delia smiled slightly at that. “Sister Winifred.” The younger nun shook herself out of her sleepy stupor, blinking rapidly. “You should be proud of yourself. You have done well today. What have you to report on the missing members of your team?”

“Oh, um,” Winifred tried to collect herself, blushing slightly. “Thank you. Phyllis said that she would make contact as soon as she was able. She mentioned a car that she could borrow; something about a favour she was owed, and that they should be back by tomorrow afternoon. There were no complications of immediate concern, except for Nurse Busby, of course.” The nun did not seem to mean this as an offence, but her tone of suspicion lingered.

“Splendid.” Julienne said with a wry smile. “I have every faith in Nurse Crane’s resourcefulness.” Delia was starting to wonder if Nonnatus House was a hospital with all of the medical titles being thrown around. “Now, I expect a full report once you have convened with the rest of your team, but as for tonight, I suggest that you all get some rest. Why don’t you show Nurse Busby to the guest room on the first floor?” The request was a pointed plea for civility. Winifred nodded, and began to gather the dirty dishes, Delia having just scraped the last juices from her bowl with relish.

Sister Julienne paused for a moment and turned to Patsy. “Doctor Mount, I would offer you the option of sleeping quarters, but I fear that I know the request you are going to make.” Patsy raised her head in acknowledgement, and Delia was struck by how hollow her eyes were in that moment. Julienne smiled sympathetically. “I am going to wake Doctors Turner and Turner and ask them to speak with you now. Patrick will need to check you over medically, and I believe that you will benefit from speaking to Shelagh. For peace of mind.” 

Patsy’s eyes flickered over the others in the room, her body language tense and awkward. Whose peace of mind? Delia wondered. 

“We can discuss a plan for going forward in the morning. But for now, try and get some rest. It is wonderful to have you back with us.” 

The nun reached out to clasp Patsy’s hands, but the woman’s tense posture did not relax at the gesture. “Thank you, Sister.” She said stiffly.

After that, the group disbanded with little ceremony. Sister Julienne presumably went to ‘wake’ the Turner doctors somehow. Sister Evangelina made a point of announcing that she was on night watch; a warning Delia guessed was directed at her to dissuade funny business. Who did these people think she was?

Delia quickly washed the vase that she had soiled, and Winifred led her to the stairs, throwing a passing “Good night,” to Patsy. Delia felt that she should say something, lingering uncertainly for a second. The redhead put her out of her misery. “Good night.” She said softly. There was a weight to her words, which conveyed that there was more the woman wished to say. 

Delia smiled at her, hoping that they could actually talk the next day. “Sweet dreams.” She answered, and swore she saw the other woman blush before she scurried after Winifred. Patsy turned in the other direction, towards some unknown location.

Winifred took her own duffel bag off Delia’s hands and directed her to leave the rest of the baggage at the bottom of the stairs. She took her up one flight and led her down a corridor, flicking wall lights on as they went so that they could see their feet sinking into the faded blue carpet. Several heavy wooden doors occupied the walls with little room for decoration in between. She stopped at one from the end. “Here.” She stated, turning the door handle onto a modest sized bedroom, made up neatly with no personal touches. It was a guest bedroom if ever she had seen one.

Delia thanked her as she took a step inside. “Where is your room?” she asked, before the nun could beat a hasty retreat.

“I don’t see why it’s any of your concern.” She said sniffily. Before today, Delia had the impression that all nuns were supposed to be as kind and gracious as Julienne. She tried not to judge the woman too harshly. Actions spoke louder than words, after all.

“Well, have a good night!” Delia tried cheerfully.

“You too.” Winifred muttered, already half way down the corridor. Delia chuckled to herself, shaking her head. A sudden feeling of loneliness washed over her, as if she was unmoored in the middle of a vast ocean. She knew no-one here, not really. She didn’t know what they expected of her. She had no idea where ‘here’ even was, and if she left, she didn’t have the skills to evade detection. She was a wanted woman; a criminal. An accomplice to murder? Manslaughter? Fuck.

Delia slumped to sit on the bed, bouncing slightly, and put her head in her hands. At least the mattress was springy. Should she let her parents know her situation? Maybe not. She didn’t want to worry them after all. Oh shit. Would their phone be bugged?

Too tired to think rationally anymore, too tired to even bother looking for pyjamas or a toothbrush, Delia kicked off her trainers and wormed her way under the blankets. She had a full stomach and a warm bed, and that was enough for now. Maybe in the morning she could even ask for some clean underwear.

~*~

Two floors below, on the basement level, Patsy Mount lay on her mattress in her chamber, and let Doctor Patrick Turner remove a final blood sample from her body. Patsy was a bit fed up if she was being honest. Three months of her life had already been robbed from her by being kept comatose, and now she was playing lab rat again. She was too tired to fight it, though, and fed up at being tired. But truthfully she was scared. Scared of what could have been done to her without her knowledge or consent. Scared of what she could have done to others.

“That should do it.” The good doctor said. “Everything is looking normal, no cause for concern, but I really want to see if we can find out what drugs they might have been giving you.”

Patsy forced her brain to listen. “Oh, um, Phyllis gave me this for you, actually.” She sat up and reached into the breast pocket of her shirt, unfolding the square of paper there. “It’s the most recent notes from my medical chart. Nurse Busby, the woman who tried to break me out, she recovered them.”

“That was very insightful of her.” Patrick commented, tucking the papers with his other notes. Patsy nodded slightly, an unexpected warmth sputtering in her chest at the thought of the woman with the kind blue eyes.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Patsy?” his wife, Doctor Shelagh Turner, cut in. “It would be completely understandable, if not normal, for you not to be.”

“I’ll be fine, Shelagh, thank you. Really, I’m just grateful to be back, and awake.” Patsy yawned and the three of them laughed. “Even if for a little while.”

Shelagh smiled kindly. “Well, we’ll let you rest, but I’d like you to come to me on a daily basis for a while, just to support you in your recovery. You’ve suffered a traumatic experience -” She held up a hand as Patsy was about to protest, “- even if you were not conscious for most of it. You’ll need time to adjust and accept what has happened to you. And on top of that, I’m worried it might trigger some past memories.” Patsy turned sullen at that. Anyone who knew her well, knew that she absolutely did not like talking about her past. “That’s why you wanted to be in here, isn’t it? You’re worried the nightmares might come back, and you might lose control.”

“I appreciate your concern, Doctor Turner, but can we save the psycho-analysis for daylight? Please?” Patsy tried not to sound too harsh, but wasn’t sure she succeeded. She knew it would be a rough night, and she wanted to get on with it honestly.

The other woman nodded and stood, taking her chair to the door as she waited for her husband. “Of course.” 

“I’m still not comfortable with leaving you unsupervised overnight when we don’t know what’s in your system, so I’m going to turn that camera on, okay?” Patrick pointed to a CCTV camera outside the glass wall of Patsy’s room. So, she’ll admit it was more of a cell than a room really, but she could at least pretend. She wouldn’t be locked in; she just needed a space that would contain her if her powers activated in her sleep. She didn’t want to bring down the building and everybody in it.

The redhead scratched the back of her neck, sighing. “I suppose it’s a compromise.” She said, uncomfortable with the lack of privacy when she knew that she would be at her worst, but understanding the doctor’s concerns from a medical perspective. “Just, please delete the footage tomorrow?”

“You have a deal.” Patrick smiled. He collected his equipment and together the two Turners left. The only things that remained in the concrete room were Patsy and her mattress, and come morning, even that might not be there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a filler chapter really, but thanks for reading! Have a great day :)


	4. The Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia answers for herself before a panel of nuns.

As her breakfast roiled in her stomach, Delia really wished that she hadn’t taken up the nice brunette on her offer of French toast. 

She had slept in late from exhaustion and woke bursting for the loo. Thankfully the WC was labelled on her corridor, otherwise she would have had to start opening every door in search of a lavatory, which could have gotten awkward very quickly. When she’d wandered down the stairs, trying to smooth creases out of her slept-in clothes, she’d found the place all but deserted. The luggage in the hallway was still there, but someone had arranged it more neatly. Trying not to snoop where she wasn’t invited (not one of her strengths), Delia had managed to find the kitchen again, where she happened upon another woman making tea. Barbara, as the woman had introduced herself, informed her that she’d missed breakfast, but offered her a cuppa, insisting that breakfast was the most important meal of the day. Admittedly it was a sentiment which Delia shared, and had said so, which prompted her new friend to whip up a plate of French toast too good to refuse. But now, as Delia sat faced with an interrogation panel of nuns, she was regretting the indulgence.

Sister Winifred was seated to Delia’s right on a similarly hard backed chair. She looked uncomfortable too, and equally unsettled with the intimidating women before them. Delia felt reassured that she wasn’t alone, though she would have felt better about herself if she’d been wearing fresh clothes. There was only one woman in the room to whom she had yet to be introduced; an elderly nun who was smiling right through Delia, her absent gaze more unnerving than Sister Evangelina’s intense stare.

“Thank you for coming Nurse Busby, Sister Winifred.” Sister Julienne nodded to them both in turn, and Delia allowed herself an internal scoff, thinking that she hadn’t really had a choice. Evangelina had practically frogmarched her to Julienne’s office, the heavy wooden door closing behind them like a tomb stone. At least there weren’t shackles hanging from the panelled walls. “I’d like to begin by informing you that Cynthia made contact earlier today. She, Nurse Crane and Nurse Franklin should arrive here by four pm this afternoon.” Delia heard Winifred shift in her chair slightly at the news.

“Am I in trouble, Sister?” Winfred inquired nervously, wringing her fingers in her lap as if that would squeeze the stress from her body, “Only, I was under the impression from our conversation last night that you were expecting a report after our team had debriefed.”

“Not at all,” Julienne assured the woman, “I thought it best you be here to confirm a few details of Nurse Busby’s account when she relays what happened at The London last night.” Winifred relaxed back slightly, but Delia did not feel relaxed. No, she was fully expecting them to pull out the thumb screws soon, and she gulped as Evangelina’s lipped twitched, reminding her of how her friend’s tarantula would tap against its glass case whenever an arachnophobic was in the room. Like she knew that Delia’s back had just broken out in a cold sweat and it pleased her. The third nun was still smiling at her vacantly.

You’re not guilty of anything. You’re not guilty, Delia reminded herself. You were trying to help their friend, damn it! 

“Nurse Busby,” Julienne turned her attention on her now, and Delia felt like prey. Oh, come on woman, you were facing down a battalion of armed guards yesterday. What are three nuns? “I believe you’ve been acquainted with Sister Evangelina,” the larger nun inclined her head in acknowledgement, “but allow me to introduce Sister Monica Joan.” She indicated the elderly woman on her other side.

“I feel the fates have aligned upon our meeting, child. On a sheer peak of joy we meet;/Below us hums the abyss;/Death either way allures our feet/ If we take one step amiss.” The eccentric woman quoted with a shine in her eye. 

Okay, so that wasn’t sinister at all, Delia fretted. “Nice to meet you.” She managed to cough out. 

“Why don’t we start with what happened at The London last night? Then you’ll be free to go, Winifred.” The woman next to Delia looked relieved, her awkward smile more like a grimace. Delia was sure she wore a similar expression on her own face.

“Nurse Busby, can you tell us what happened from when you absconded with a patient, to when you departed with our team? We’ll get to the reasons behind your escapade later.” 

Delia tried to subtly wipe her palms on the ugly skirt she was (regretfully) still wearing, and licked her lips. Maybe she could show them that she really was just trying to help Patsy. “Um. Well. You see, I was on the late shift. The London has a shortage of nursing staff anyway, which is why I was able to get the permit for a job transfer from The Cardiff. I was the only one assigned to the ward Patience was on -”

“Patsy.” Winifred corrected, Delia’s eyes cutting to her uncertainly before flickering to look at a spot above the nuns’ heads, noticing a slight patch of damp on the ceiling plaster.

“Right, Patsy. Anyway, for an hour after change over, there was only the ward sister on duty in that wing, and the ward Patsy was on is small; reserved for security concerns mainly.” Yeah, criminals and psychos, she added in her head. There was a lot to unpack in that information, but Delia resolved to stick to basics. “If I was going to do it – break her out, I mean – last night was the only opportunity I’d probably get. To be honest, I still wasn’t sure I would actually do it at all… but I did.” And she still couldn’t really believe it. 

Julienne nodded at her to continue. 

“I’m an Illusionsist; my Gift is to manipulate people’s reality, but I can’t ‘manipulate’ cameras with my ability, as frustrating as that is, so I glimmered the ward sister monitoring the screens to make her see what I wanted if she should check. And yes, I am aware that is an offence which equates to bodily harm.” Delia licked her lips again, chancing a glance at her interviewers. They didn’t seem particularly effected by this information, so she carried on.

“I couldn’t do anything about the main security desk. There are so many cameras at The London, and I figured that by the time the guards noticed anything was amiss, I’d be well on my way. I was wrong.” 

Evangelina huffed. Delia gritted her teeth but ignored her, wondering who she was to pass judgement on her amateur escape skills – Houdini?

“I hooked Patsy’s vital monitors to the patient next to her so that no-one would get a flat-line alert, and unhooked her IV. I started wheeling her gurney down a corridor that would take me to the lifts. If anyone stopped me, I had a forged document that supposedly sanctioned her transfer to another ward, where I had planned to move her to a wheel chair and take her to morgue.” Realising how that sounded, Delia rushed to explain her plan. “The London is such a huge facility that it has to be self-sustainable, but waste and hazardous matter must be sent to an incinerator on the surface, just outside the compound. That’s where unclaimed bodies go. If I put her in a body bag and delivered her there myself…I guess it doesn’t matter anymore, since we didn’t even make it past the first stage of my plan. In hindsight I know it would never have worked, especially when attempted alone. I severely underestimated how hard it is to move an unconscious person around; particularly one so tall.”

“So where did it go wrong?” Julienne encouraged her to continue.

Delia sighed, remembering the utter dread she had felt the moment she turned the corner to the lifts on the medical level to find a forest of guns pointed at her. Part of her had wished that she’d never stuck her nose where it didn’t belong, but then she wouldn’t have been true to herself and her morals, and that wasn’t who Delia Busby wanted to be. 

“Well, Patsy must have had a special alert on her, so that if her monitors recieved any type of anomalous reading – as they would have when I clipped them onto another person – somebody somewhere would know, in which case, they would check the security feed and the transfer sanctions. The document that I procured for her transfer must have been red flagged in the system, so apparently they sent a unit of armed guards to investigate. She must really have been valuable to them.” Or a great threat, Delia thought.

“Hmm. How did you escape the guards?” Evangelina questioned.

“Patsy.” Delia said simply. The nuns in the room sent each other worried glances, and Winifred looked down at her sensible shoes. “We were cornered in one of the operating theatres and held at gunpoint. Then suddenly she sat up, and they fired, and the bullets…they just disintegrated! I don’t think she was aware of what she was doing. Her eyes were closed. That is, until more guards arrived. I don’t think I’ll ever forget what happened next. She grabbed my wrist, and then, I don’t know, her eyes opened and this _power_ just slammed out of her and into everybody else… they all just turned to dust, right there in front of us.” Delia swallowed, her mouth dry. “She passed out again after that.”

Her brow furrowed, Julienne took pity on Delia and switched the focus to Winifred. “Was this the scene you arrived on, Sister?”

“Yes.” Winifred nodded meekly. “Cynthia picked up a power surge at the Institute in the medical sector; something that we had been monitoring in case Patsy’s condition changed or her power was triggered. She checked the camera system to confirm, and we teleported straight in because the preventative measures the Institute has against that sort of thing wouldn’t have worked in the chaos. When we arrived, we found Patsy on a medical bed thingy. She was unconscious. Then we noticed Nurse Busby here,” Winifred flapped her hand in Delia’s direction. “She was against the wall, clearly not wanting to be seen. The room was in ruins. The walls were scorched and an adjoining wall through to the next room had been blasted through. There was a lot of black dust.” The last sentence carried a weight that signalled the others knew what black dust meant.

“And is there anything in Nurse Busby’s account that needs clarification or does not fit with what you encountered?”

Winifred eyed Delia for a moment, and Delia held her breath. “No, Sister.”

“Do you believe that Phyllis’ decision to take Nurse Busby was justified?”

Delia felt dizzy from lack of air. Winifred paused before speaking again. “I didn’t agree with it at the time. She was a stranger and we needed to be quick and take minimal risks, but I believe that she would have been in as much trouble as we would if she’d been caught. She had just as much to lose.”

“Thank you, Sister.” Julienne said, and Delia sighed in relief, casting a grateful look to the young nun. “And what was Patsy’s condition upon closer inspection?”

Winifred thought for a moment. “Phyllis picked her up, so I didn’t get a good look at her. She appeared unharmed other than not being awake.”

Julienne nodded. “Nurse Busby, can you shed more light on Doctor Mount’s condition?”

“As I said, she was semi-conscious for a short while, when she…did whatever she did, but she wasn’t awake, so to speak. She was being kept in a coma, so when I unhooked her monitor and IV drip she would have began to wake. My knowledge is limited on what they were dosing her with, but I can tell you more if you’d like?”

“Later.” Julienne confirmed, turning her attention back to the woman next to Delia. “For now, I think that’s all we need from you Winifred. You may leave. Thank you for your time.”

Winifred rose stiffly to her feet. “Thank you, Sisters.” She nodded at the row of nuns before casting Delia a conciliatory glance.

Delia watched her leave, the door closing with a solemn thump. She was on her own now. Wanting to get on with the inevitable hard part to come, Delia decided to move things along. “Sister Julienne, forgive me for being blunt, but what do you want from me?”

The Sister gave a wry smile, considering her for a moment with a knowing gaze. “I want you to be able to trust us, Delia. And I want us to be able to trust you in turn. You see, I believe that we can be great allies to one another, and that you can find a fulfilment here that The London could never have offered you. Or any Institute for that matter.”

“Thank you, Sister, but religion is not for me.”

Julienne chuckled slightly while Evangelina frowned in disapproval.

“My dear, the Lord is not for everyone.” Sister Monica Joan announced. Her gnarled hands rested lightly in front of her on Julienne’s desk, and traced an unknown pattern as she looked at Delia. “Each must find their own meaning, their own path in the confusion.”

Delia hummed as if she understood, though she really did not. “Okay, so you want information on The London; on what I know about Patience Mount?”

“That is correct. But first, perhaps it would help us both for you to ask whatever questions you would like to ask of us here at Nonnatus House?” Julienne asked.

Delia was taken aback at that, staring into Sister Julienne’s sincere green eyes, trying to gauge what she was playing at. Whatever they might think, she was not a Londoner spy, and was starting to regret not having that type of training. She decided to be as honest and open as possible. She had nothing to hide, and these people were her only chance of protection right now.

Trying to order her thoughts, she started with the basics. “Where exactly in the world are we? Are we even still in England?”

“Yes,” Julienne obliged. “We are in a Gifted community South of London called Poplar, in Kent.”

“Okay, thank you.” Delia breathed, relieved to know that they hadn’t teleported to the other end of the Earth. “I suppose it would be stupid to ask whether I’ll be able to return to my flat to collect some belongings?” The incredulous looks she received were answer enough. Evangelina even snorted. 

“That assumption would be correct.” Julienne spelled out, then added more apologetically, “The London will have posted observers at every location you are known to have frequented. What you attempted yesterday was very risky and a direct offence against The London Institute. If you are caught, there is nothing that can legally be done to absolve you.” There was a moment of silence in which Delia came to terms with the subtext of the nun’s words. If she was caught, no-one would help her, not even them. She wasn’t ‘family’; not like Patsy.

“Will my parents be okay? My friends, my relations?” Delia asked, growing worried.

“I imagine that they will be observed for a time, and I cannot say whether they will be approached for questioning or not without more information from you. It depends upon whether the Institute would have legal grounds to take them into custody, or whether the plans you interrupted regarding Doctor Mount were off the official records.”

Oh, they were off the official records alright, Delia thought to herself, but they were sure to get to that later; she wasn’t about to pass up this chance to get more information by offering up breadcrumbs early. “How is Doctor Mount now?” she inquired.

“Patsy is as well as can be expected, you are kind to ask.”

That was it? She did just risk her bloody life for the woman, and all she got was a ‘she’s well, no need to trouble your pretty little head about it, it is a surprise that you are human enough to care’? 

Evangelina took the opportunity to remind everyone of her presence, asking in her imposing voice, “Do you have anyone close to you that would notice your absence immediately, Nurse Busby? Anyone, for example, to whom we must feed an urgent cover story; to dissuade them from asking imprudent questions?”

Frustrated by the hostility, Delia tried to defend herself. “I didn’t involve anyone else, if that is what you are implying. I asked some people strategic questions, but I didn’t put them in a compromising position. You don’t need to worry. I have no partner to speak of, and being new to London, no close friends who’ll miss me. My parents call once a week, but they live in Wales. They’ll be worried when I don’t return their calls, but the most they’ll do is leave angry voice mails for the time being. It’s not unusual for me to go silent when I have a run of graveyard shifts, in fact I’m pretty sure I could disappear for weeks and no one would be any the wiser.” The thought was quite depressing really. She truly had to spend some time on her social life.

Delia decided to jump right in and ask what had been bugging her since last night. “Do you think I’m a spy?”

“Why would you think that?” Julienne replied, her face unreadable.

“I don’t know. It’s just a feeling.” She said, eyeing Evangelina’s frosty countenance.

Julienne sighed. She leant forward in her chair to prop her elbows on her large oak desk, steepling her hands like her arms could provide churchly sanctuary for her thoughts. “Many here are mistrustful of strangers, and are unused to the concept of charitable help, although they try to provide that help themselves to others who may need it. The largest question on our minds is what provoked you to try and help Patsy to escape The London Institute. Phyllis Crane would not have allowed you to come here unless she believed that you were genuine in your intentions towards Doctor Mount, and she had Nurse Miller, who is, shall we say, ‘technologically Gifted’, find out every scrap of information that exists on the system pertaining to yourself. She sent that file to me.” 

Delia couldn’t help the slight jiggle of anxiety in her knee as Julienne sat back and began counting on her fingers; “You are an illusionist with no previous criminal record or warning for unauthorized use of your Gift,” one finger ticked up, “you graduated nursing school at The Cardiff Institute top of your class,” a second finger, “and continued to work there for the past four years, until you transferred to The London five months ago with a highly commendable letter of recommendation for your professional conduct,” a third finger. “All in all you are a model Gifted citizen and nurse. You grew up in a small town just outside of Tenby, first in the Busby family to have received The Gift, though there was a Great Aunt on your mother’s side who could grow facial hair.” 

Ah, Great Aunt Alys, Delia recalled. Young Delia used to like the stories of disguise Alys would tell over the Christmas table; horror stories, her Mam called them. Not the most enviable Gift, but it served her well in a patriarchal society. She was distracted again as Julienne continued.

“Your Gift emerged when you were seven years old. Dai Griffith, a known bully, had stolen your friend’s school bag, inciting your only reported incident of school yard violence to get it back. When you restored the bag to your friend, she kissed you on the cheek and a rainbow appeared overhead, before - and I quote - ‘dissipating into sparkling nothingness’. A Ms. Caddell logged the incident in the school system.”

Delia realised that she had not taken a breath for several moments and gasped quietly as she rectified that. “Okay, I understand.” She blurted, wanting Julienne to stop. “You know everything about me.”

“Yes,” Julienne confirmed, clearly feeling that the woman in front of her had been sufficiently intimidated, “and we have no reason to suspect that you are a spy. In fact, if you can answer our questions, we would like to offer you a job; something which might benefit you given your current fugitive status.”

Delia blinked at her dumbly. “What job?” Then, gathering the manners her Mam ingrained in her off the polished floorboards, she said, “Excuse me. I meant to ask what kind of job you would want me to do at Nonnatus House.”

“Perhaps it would be better if we explained what type of organization Nonnatus House is.” Sister Evangelina cut in, and Delia was reminded that there were others in the room. She glanced at Sister Monica Joan, who had taken out some unfinished baby clothes she was happily knitting. Delia felt a niggle of resentment worm in her stomach at the breach of her privacy, at the injustice that all these people now knew her history, and she took another breath of stale air, trying to dispel her tension. They were offering her sanctuary, and a job on top of that; this was good. Now all she had to do was hope it wasn’t as an assassin, and hope she didn’t cock this up.

“Thank you, Sister.” Julienne acknowledged Evangelina’s suggestion. Returning her penetrating focus to Delia, she began to explain. 

“Nonnatus House, named after the building that we are sitting in, is an organization that was set up during the Second World War. As I’m sure you know, an alliance was established between the Gifted Institutes of each major city in Britain and the British Government. Gifted were enlisted to aid the war effort, however, it was agreed that an elite force of Gifted would be assembled, much like the SAS, to carry out covert operations. Nonnatus House was the base of operations for this service, and the group became known as the ‘Nonnatuns’, or colloquially, ‘Nonnies’; not a name I favour, I can tell you. The Nonnatuns were disbanded after the War. The powers that be were concerned that the Gifted would become a threat to power in their autonomy, and the Institutes revised their regulations, clamping down on the freedoms of the Gifted more than ever. I’m sure I don’t need to give you a history lesson. To summarize a long story, the Government still sees use in having a private body of Gifted, uninfluenced by the Institutes, which it can rely upon to deal with matters that require certain skill-sets. As such, it has allowed Nonnatus House to retain some measure of independence as an organization, provided that we carry out operations on their behalf. Outside associations can also employ our services if they have government approved documentation, and we use the income from such operations to fund work that we do in other areas…more clandestine areas, which you would only be privy to if you decide to join us-”

“Sorry, sorry…can I just cut in?” Julienne raised her eyebrows but didn’t object, so Delia pushed on. “Can I just clarify; it had to be proven that I was in fact _not_ a spy in order to offer me a job _as a spy_?” 

The three nuns blinked at her. “When you put it like that, I suppose it does sound rather illogical, however we are primarily interested in your skills as a nurse, alongside the potential that you have shown for espionage in your venture to liberate Doctor Mount.” 

“Right.” Delia said, still not fully comprehending. Sister Monica Joan turned her head back to her knitting, and Delia shifted in her chair. She was starting to get a numb bum.

Julienne elaborated; “You see, as part of our cover as a secret governmental service, we offer medical aid to Gifted individuals who have suffered abuse and trauma; victims of trafficking or other illegalities who need special care during their recovery. That is why we refer to our colleagues by their medical or religious titles.”

“So you are the Robin Hoods of the Gifted world? Robbing Gifted in distress from immoral perils and Friar Tucking them to health? Is the wimple just a cover too?” Delia scoffed.

“Watch yourself.” Sister Evangelina growled. “We are fully committed to our faith, I want to make that understood. However, we also have a calling to help fight for the rights of the Gifted community. Nonnatus House has always been a convent, and while it does help our image in the public eye, it is no pretence. The values that we live by have remained the same: to help others more in need than ourselves. Many of the women here were once in similar positions to yourself, left with nowhere to go, and they have chosen to serve; to pay forward the charity bestowed on them by this institution.”

Delia nodded, looking suitably chastised. “Sorry Sister, I meant no disrespect, but as I said before, I’m not religious, and as much as your message of charity appeals to me, I have no intention to subscribe to the dogma that comes with organised faith.”

“We will not ask that of you. Upholding our values of love and compassion is the principal job requirement.” Julienne explained delicately.

Delia felt her defences ease slightly, feeling less threatened. If it was all an act, it was a good one, she’d give them that. If what they were saying was true, maybe she wouldn’t mind working here after all. Weren’t their values the very reason she’d risked herself for Patsy anyway? To be brave and offer aid when no-one else would?

Breathing out slowly, Delia considered her options. She looked down at the toes of her trainers, peeking out from beneath her long skirt, observing the flex in the material as she bent her big toes up and down. “Okay,” she said. “Let’s say I’m interested in your job offer,” the nuns’ faces gave nothing away, “I assume there is more to the acceptation process than this interview?”

Sister Julienne smiled, satisfied that Delia’s interest was piqued. “You will need to tell us all you know about The London’s interests regarding Patience Mount, and their intentions for her. Tomorrow you will have a physical evaluation involving the use of your Gift, and a nursing skills assessment with Nurse Franklin. I may pull Doctor Turner in to observe. You will meet the rest of the Nonnatuns at dinner, I’m sure, and we can see how you all get along. Tensions may be high with Patsy’s return, but I’m confident that you’ll fit right in.”

Delia didn’t have to think long about how much the pros outweighed the cons, but she made a good show of it anyway. She didn’t want to seem too desperate. “Alright then. If you throw in some fresh clothes, you have yourself a deal. I’ll work for you.”

The two women shook on it, and Delia proceeded to reveal what she had uncovered that led to her foray into the world of espionage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sister Monica Joan is so hard to write! The poem she quotes here is Edith Wharton's 'A Meeting'. 
> 
> Thanks for reading x


	5. Getting Acquainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia finally gets some fresh clothes, has a little chat with Patsy, and is thrown to the sharks at dinner.

Delia followed Sister Monica Joan down a gloomy corridor smelling of bleach. Diamonds were patterned on the tiled floor as if they could somehow make it shine more. Delia was just pleased to be out of Julienne’s office. She fervently hoped that there would never be another reason for her to be pulled in there. In fact, even now she half suspected the nun ahead of her to pull out cloves of garlic and a wooden stake, so strong was the Gothic vibe of the place.

Delia only half-listened to the Sister’s ongoing natter as she looked around the building they were walking through. Her guess was that it was an old Victorian manor house, but while the walls and plaster-work of the building were still ornate, the internal decoration had been stripped to make way for more utilitarian furniture. Most of the doors they passed were closed, but what she saw certainly seemed reminiscent of a medical clinic. They passed a large chalk-board at one point, with names sketched into some kind of rota. Still on the ground floor, her view of the grounds outside was rather limited, but she got the impression that they were well maintained, and quite extensive.

Sister Monica Joan came to an abrupt stop in front of a non-descript looking coat cupboard. “Here you shall find the garments that you seek.” The older woman declared with a toothy grin, pulling the door open. Inside there were cardboard boxes squeezed tightly onto in-set shelving. Permanent marker was scrawled on them in labels such as ‘shoes’, or ‘aged eight to ten’. “When you have chosen your desired attire, you may find me in the kitchen. This time of day calls for refreshment.” Delia gave her thanks and watched her wander back the way they’d come.

Eying up the choices, Delia figured she could probably swing an aged sixteen male, but ‘adult clothing’ looked a more promising starting point. There would be opportunity at a later time to venture into Poplar and purchase some of her own clothes, but since Delia could no longer access her bank accounts and must be on the UK’s list of ‘most wanted’, she was happy with whatever left-behind items she could scrounge up. Apparently a brand new selection of underwear and a toothbrush would be left on her bed later, for which she was grateful.

Pressing into the small space, Delia rummaged about, dragging boxes into the corridor and pulling out a few items before sizing them up against her body. Clothing that passed her test was thrown into a haphazard ‘keep’ pile. When she peered into the ‘shoe’ box, her eyes lit up at what she found. A pair of yellow converses that other might deem ugly were squished into the corner. She felt like Cinderella when she tried them on, so perfect was the fit. It couldn’t hurt to own two pairs of shoes, right?

When she had finished, she did her best to make it seem less like a tornado had torn through the closet and scampered up to her room to shower and change. Dressed in baggy jeans barely held up with a tatty belt she’d found, a random Adidas t-shirt, and a hooded jacket, she felt ready enough to brave civilization again.

~*~

The afternoon turned out to be a grey one and a fine drizzle was coming down outside. If God really was a man in the clouds, he’d shaded the sky with graphite and needed to buy a new eraser. Nonnatus House seemed to be as empty as it was in the morning. Delia remembered something about an external clinic that Julienne had mentioned. Perhaps everyone was at work there. 

Having come from the kitchens where Monica Joan had pressed some ginger biscuits into her hand, Delia was about to tuck up in the window of the sitting room with a book she’d found and enjoy them. It was then that she caught sight of a lone figure in the garden. Their face was tilted slightly towards the falling moisture, and their auburn hair peeked out from beneath the hood of their raincoat. Puffs of smoke were periodically released above their head. Delia snapped the book closed, leaving it forgotten as she made her way out to join them, grabbing a random coat from a peg by the backdoor.

“How do you light cigarettes in the rain?” Delia called out as she approached.

If the figure was startled by her presence, it didn’t show. “Perseverance.” They said.

Delia came to stand by their side, looking out down the lawn, bordered by manicured shrubbery. “Not Patience, then?” She ventured. The figure snapped their head to look at her. “I was told you’d ‘dust’ me if I called you that.” Delia carried on boldly, ignoring the steely glare and turning to meet her eyes, holding out a hand. “I’m Delia. What should I call you?”

The other woman seemed to weigh up the worth of hostility in the face of such boldness, blowing another steady stream of smoke out the corner of her mouth, but thankfully she accepted the offered hand. Her grip was firm but did not linger. “Patsy.” She said shortly, turning back to her contemplation of the distant hedgerow. Not much of a talker then.

Delia let the silence settle on their shoulders for a moment along with the drizzle. She shivered slightly and shifted her feet, her converses absorbing the moisture from the grass. It smelt fresh out here, despite her companion’s smoking habit, and she relished the chance to be somewhere green and absent of car fumes. Surprisingly, it was Patsy who spoke next.

“I suppose I should say thank you.” She glanced over to Delia who returned her gaze questioningly. “For ‘rescuing’ me.” She clarified with a sardonic edge on the word ‘rescue’. She seemed earnest enough though.

Delia chuckled good naturedly. “I suppose I should thank you for being the one I tried to rescue. Anyone else and a back-up team of professionals wouldn’t have arrived to break them out. You don’t need to thank me for anything but getting us into trouble.”

Patsy frowned at this. “No.”

“No?”

“No. Not just anyone would have tried to do what you did.”

“Do you even know the whole story?” Delia challenged.

“I know the gist of it.” Patsy returned. Her voice was neutral, but her brow was pinched as she flicked some ash off the end of her cigarette. They both watched the grey flakes float down and melt into the sodden grass.

“I’m sorry.” Delia apologised, picking up on her unease. “It must be difficult waking up after so long.”

Patsy just hummed and went back to breathing in her cancer sticks. Delia watched her for a moment, observing the arm held tightly across her middle and the elegant way she held her cigarette, with her thumb and ring finger rubbing absentmindedly. “Do they even taste good?” she blurted out of nowhere.

“I beg your pardon?”

Delia blushed but didn’t back down. “Cigarettes. Do they taste good? I just don’t understand why people smoke them even when they know they’re bad for their health.”

“You’ve never tried one?” Patsy smirked.

“No.”

“It’s not about the taste. It’s about the nicotine. ” The redhead held out her cigarette. “Here, try it.” Delia eyed it suspiciously. “Oh, come on. One smoke is not going to kill you. You can tick it off your bucket list.”

Slowly, Delia reached out and plucked the offending object from her grasp, careful not to brush fingers. She put the end to her lips and sucked, noticing Patsy’s eyes focus on her mouth. She smiled inwardly, a tickle of excitement crawling down her spine at the attention. 

“You have to breathe in deep,” Patsy explained, “Into your lungs, and hold it.”

Delia tried, but she found herself coughing and spluttering, tears blurring her sight. “Take it back!” She choked out, pushing the fag back into the other woman’s hands. Patsy laughed softly, and despite the burning in her throat, Delia decided she liked the sound very much indeed; more even than the warm scrape of their skin when the redhead took back the offending item.

“It takes a while to get used to.” The redhead conceded.

“I don’t think I want to.” Delia grouched, shoving her hands in the pockets of her raincoat. There was something in there that felt like a used tissue, and Delia was reminded that the coat was not her own, carefully extricating her hand again. “Should you even be smoking those when you’ve just come out of hospital?”

Patsy apparently decided to ignore her. “What kind of life do you come from that you’ve never tried a cigarette?”

“A strict one.” Delia confessed, and then added, “An Anglican Welsh one. My Mam is quite big on the religion front. Probably why I’m not keen on it.”

“And yet you find yourself at a convent.” Patsy drawled dryly.

“I know. Bloody ironic, isn’t it?”

They were comfortably silent for another minute or so, just soaking up each other’s company. It was nice not to talk so seriously after everything that had gone on. But Delia felt that there were Things she needed to talk with Patsy about. Serious Things. Responsible, adult Things. Things that were decidedly uncomfortable. Patsy needed to know what was planned for her at The London. 

Delia sighed, “Patsy-”

“Don’t.” Patsy stopped her suddenly, avoiding eye contact. “Not yet. I know there are things that we should discuss, but please, not yet.” Like a human pipette, she seemed to suck herself into a neat, contained shape rather than the mess she wanted to be naturally. She then turned and gave Delia a tight, forced smile.

Delia looked back at her sombrely for a second, noting the ache behind her blue eyes, before nodding and smiling softly. “Okay.”

They stood there long enough for another cigarette to burn down to its filter in Patsy’s fingers, letting the rain cleanse their senses, nonchalantly pointing out this and that in their surroundings. It was the approaching hum of an engine that ended the peaceful moment.

“That must be the others returning.” Patsy commented.

“Phyllis, Trixie and Cynthia?”

“That’s right. Come on, everyone must be back from the clinic as well by now, there’ll be a welcoming party, I’m sure.”

~*~

Delia was nervous. By nature, she was not a socially anxious person. But sat here, around a long, wooden table below a crucifix; an outsider inserting herself into a close-knit community, suffering the judgement of some who still suspected ulterior motives from her, she was sweating a little. Her hands were clammy around her cutlery, and when she went to take a drink of water, she left a sweat-print on the glass. She caught Trixie staring at her from a few seats down and gulped.

She had been introduced to everyone by now in some manner or another. A large crowd had indeed gathered to welcome home the rouge heroes, and once the excitement had worn off, attention had returned once more to Patsy and the strange Welsh girl who’d been retrieved with her. There were various versions of ‘The Rescue’ story floating around that Delia rolled her eyes at. Patsy managed to exist on the fringes of the group, people coming up to her to wish her well, but Barbara had grabbed a hold of Delia’s arm and keenly pulled her into the fray to make introductions. Phyllis had given her a brief tip of the head before she declared her need to freshen up and disappeared upstairs, while Trixie had gravitated straight towards Patsy. Cynthia just mingled, receiving claps on the back in that calm manner she had. Everyone seemed delightfully lovely.

Dinner time rolled around and once they were all seated, Sister Julienne had made an official announcement to welcome Patsy home, to thank the team who were tasked with retrieving her, and to acknowledge the part Delia played, as well as the intention to employ her at Nonnatus House.

But despite the welcoming sentiment, dinner was stilted somehow. Stale. The atmosphere, not the food. No, Mrs. B, the chef, certainly had talent, Delia thought to herself as she speared another baby carrot and raised it delicately to her mouth. She was hyper-aware of her table manners in the current situation. Perhaps having supper at a nunnery before the eyes of God was what her mother had trained her for.

Patsy sat to Delia’s right, seemingly engrossed with what was on her plate, though, Delia noticed, she still didn’t have much of an appetite. Across the table, a pair who had introduced themselves as Valerie – _for the love of God call me Val_ \- and Lucille, looked to be messing about, elbowing each other in jest with sly smiles.

Someone cleared their throat from Delia’s other side, breaking the muted conversation, if the sparse interactions around the table could be called conversation. “So Delia,” a behemoth of a woman known as Chummy (Delia was a bit vague on the whole back-story behind the nickname; something about private school and someone called Mater) began in a chipper voice. “Where in Wales do you hail from?”

“Pembrokeshire originally, just outside of Tenby.” She replied politely.

“Oh how lovely! I’ve always wanted to visit; I’ve heard the landscape is absolutely stunning.”

“I have an uncle who moved to Pembrokeshire,” Barbara started up. “He said living in Liverpool was bad for his lungs and wanted some country air - he’s not Gifted, you see, so the move wasn’t complicated. It’s hard for me to get the permits to cross the border and see him though. The Institutes only allow two non-occupational visits a year, outside major holidays of course.”

“Oh yes, how on earth did you manage a gig at The London, Delia? Cross-border transfers are frightfully difficult.” Chummy queried.

“They were short staffed and looking for trained nurses.” Delia supplied. “My supervisor put forward my name as a suggestion. I was lucky.” Maybe if she kept telling herself that, like her Mam, she would believe it someday. As she scraped up the remains of her mashed potato, she was beginning to feel luckier having escaped it.

The discussion stalled, as if no one knew what to say next. At some point in the meal, everyone around the table had glanced subtly at Patsy in some way, clearly wanting to engage her but uncertain whether she would be receptive. Delia observed the redhead from the corner of her eye, noting that she was still studiously avoiding eye contact, a furrow in her brow as if deep in conversation with the sausages on her plate over the various merits of gravy.

At the other end of the table, the nuns were in quiet discussion with a meek lady whose name Delia remembered as Jane, their soft murmurings the only sound in the room.

Delia decided to put her best foot forward and take the attention off Patsy, who clearly wasn’t as okay as she’d like the others to think. She probably shouldn’t even be in such an overwhelming social situation so soon.

Thankfully Lucille beat her to it. “What’s it like working in an Institute?” The question seemed to garner a lot of attention from others around the table who leaned forward with curious faces. The murmuring at the other end stopped.

Growing slightly hot under the attention, Delia leaned back in her chair and considered her words. She’d never had any experience working anywhere else, so she wasn’t sure where to start. She was surprised that none of these Gifted people, especially those her age (a modest 26, thank you very much) and older, would not know what it was like to work in an Institute. Where else would they have earned their money before Nonnatus House? How long had these people been here? Eventually she asked, “What would you like to know?”

Lucille’s eyes seemed to brighten with her thirst for knowledge. Val rolled her eyes next to her. “Oh, here we go.”

Lucille slapped Val’s arm, not taking her eyes off Delia. “Obviously some stuff is common knowledge; like how they don’t let any Gifted into the security forces, or how they train us to use our Gifts but don’t employ us for them, how they have control over the bank accounts of all their employees, you know – the things that lead to Gifted rights campaigns. But what is it like working for them day to day? Do you feel like someone is always looking over your shoulder? Can you talk on the wards? What happens if someone messes up?”

Delia blinked at the onslaught of the woman’s enthusiasm. “Well, I suppose it’s how I’d imagine working in a non-Gifted hospital to be, other than specific cases that involve catering to an individual’s Gift. As a nurse, I answer to the ward matron. She organises the rotas and deals with disputes and such. We don’t talk on the wards, except to patients, because it’s not professional. The canteen is a hotbed of gossip, of course, and the locker rooms. We have IDs to get in the facility and onto different levels, but it’s not like there are guards following us every step of the way. Still, there are a lot of cameras, and security is tight.” Delia shifted her eyes to the Sisters down the table, recalling their conversation earlier in the day, although it felt like last year at this point.

“Alright, but how do you feel about the Gifted rights side of things? Surely, you must have felt a little bit oppressed there?”

“Great. Now we’re talking politics around the dinner table.” Val snarked.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” Delia made clear, “I wish things were different for the Gifted community. In fact I don’t think we should call them ‘Gifted Rights’ at all; we’re humans just like anybody else. They treat our Gifts like weapons we need a permit for, but that’s a global issue. The Institutes were designed to provide jobs for us when the outside world was afraid to. They’re supposedly a place where we can learn to control ourselves so that we don’t become a danger to others. As soon as you present your Gift, you’re whisked off to a Gifted Academy. But they won’t employ us for those skills, because, again, it gives us too much responsibility; too much power if we reach our full potential. It could be worse though.” Lucille scoffed, but Delia ploughed on, “It could! At least we’re not chipped or placed in detention camps like they are in some countries. Many Gifted people can be completely anonymous on the street. Barring a few liberties, it’s only when we need to cross borders or do anything official that documentation has to be provided and we get different treatment – special measures. And they are too strict! The system has to change. If they continue treating us like we’re all criminals on parole, it will only foster enmity until Gifted people start using their powers in the way that the Government and the Institutes already fear.”

“Here, here.” Delia heard Phyllis mumble a few chairs down.

Lucille regarded Delia momentarily. “Okay. You can stay.” She decided, then appeared to have an afterthought; “But what about all the shady business the Institutes want to cover up? Ow-” She winced, as if someone had kicked her, Val giving her a pointed look.

Delia glanced at Patsy who just looked numb, gazing at the empty gravy boat, lost in her head. Her eyes flickered up only momentarily when Sister Julienne cleared her throat. “I think it’s time for dessert, don’t you ladies?”

After that, conversation returned to the stilted small talk that had dominated the room earlier. People were too tense to broach any topic more controversial, sensitive to all that went unsaid between them in light of Patsy’s return. Shady business was indeed afoot, and Patsy had just been spat out from the black, stormy heart of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise if all the unsubtle exposition gets a bit confusing!


	6. Trading Gifts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia gets to know her new colleagues and all of their individual peculiarities.

Delia’s social anxiety, having reared its ugly head at dinner, thankfully decided to take a much needed holiday. The kind with palm trees and the sound of ocean waves, and fruity cocktails with those little umbrella things; the whole shebang. That is to say, that Delia was feeling much more relaxed later that evening, curled up on a comfy chair in the sitting room among her new companions, the tension from dinner having dissipated with the setting of the sun. Then again, maybe it was the glass of fine whiskey Val had placed in her hand.

The Sisters had retired early for the evening, as was their custom. Jane and Cynthia had also made their excuses and withdrawn, but the others seemed to want to reconnect, having been reunited with their friends. It became apparent that the group planning Patsy’s break out had been monitoring the situation for some several months, holed up in that dingy London flat.

Trixie wandered into the room with a steaming mug of hot chocolate. “Patsy’s not feeling up to it tonight, I’m afraid, chaps. Completely understandable of course, but I can’t imagine she’ll be better off down in the basement alone.”

“She’s probably just looking for some solitude, Trix, you know what she’s like.” Barbara consoled.

“Yes, I do.” Trixie sighed, “Only, I don’t know how to help her, and goodness knows she’ll never ask for it.”

Delia was still caught on something Trixie said. “She sleeps in the basement?”

The blonde woman cast her a glance as she folded elegantly onto the sofa next to Barbara. “As you get to know her, Delia – as much as she lets you see of her – you’ll learn that Patsy can be very melodramatic.”

When Delia simply looked confused, Chummy explained gently from her armchair, “When Patsy first arrived here, the Turners built her a special room to help restrain her powers when she was asleep. Sometimes her nightmares could get a bit out of hand, you see. She must be worried about that happening now.”

“Yes, but it’s been years since she’s needed to sleep there. I’ve never met a person more in control of their Gift than Patsy Mount. Surely she’s just being overly cautious?”

“If that’s what she needs to feel safe,” Phyllis cut in from where she was leaning against the fire place, “then we should support her. That’s what she needs from us right now, not this gossiping behind her back.” When everyone in the room looked suitably chastised, the Northener drained her glass of whiskey and declared herself fit for a slumber of the dead.

They all wished her good night, falling into a tired companionship. Delia swirled her drink around, savouring another mouthful. It had been a while since she’d had alcohol. Bartenders liked to ask for ID before serving anyone, always weary of letting a Gifted get drunk. Delia thought that bar fights would be more fun when people had powers. Then again, she’d never been in a fight, which was something that could change very soon with the new path she had started. 

Val seemed to have had a bit too much already, slumped against both Lucille and the coffee table on the rug. “Come on then, Delia, be a sport and show us your Gift.” She egged with a slight slur to her words.

Delia was taken aback. Usually it was considered an offence to ask someone so overtly about their Gift. “Oh don’t look so shocked,” Trixie jibed, “We don’t hold with all that stigma about revealing your Gift. It’s just another way we are made to feel ashamed about what we are. You’ll find that here, no-one gives a damn. It is our abilities that give us our unique skill set. Make us part of the team.”

“You’d better get used to using it.” Barbara agreed.

“Yes, come on old thing, show us what you’ve got!” Chummy encouraged eagerly.

When Delia still seemed unsure, Trixie rolled her eyes. “If it makes you feel more comfortable, I’ll go first.”

She stood up and moved near the window where there was more space, sliding her cardigan off her shoulders and unfurling the four magnificent wings attached to her back. Each one was roughly a foot longer than each of her arms, with a pattern of dark ridges webbed over the translucent surface. They shined with a pearl sheen where they caught in the low glow of the lamps. “You’ve already seen these puppies,” Trixie commented, “but watch this.”

Slowly the wings began to vibrate, lifting their owner off the ground incrementally. She pulsed them with a couple of strong beats until she was hovering with her head brushing the ornate ceiling. Lucielle had to slam her hands on the magazines on the coffee table to stop them from being blown away. Delia was feeling pretty blown away just watching from the other side of the room.  
“Obviously I can go much higher,” Trixie explained as she returned to earth, “I’ve still got to work on my turns though. Falcon wings would be much more useful for speed and manoeuvring.”

“Oh they are.” Barbara piped up. “They’re so much fun.”

“Alright, Miss I-Can-Be-Anything, you’ll get your turn to show off, just let me show her this one last thing.” Trixie’s wings fell back to lie neatly behind her. She turned to address Delia. “I was doubly blessed, you see-” an assortment of groans and eye rolls cut her off and she glared around before honing in on Val, who had the most impressive face of exasperation. “Hmm, Valerie,” she said in a sickly sweet tone, “why don’t you help me demonstrate?”

Val looked like she regretted every eye roll she’d ever made. “Oh Trixie, no. Please! I’ll do your chores for a week!” It didn’t stop Trixie from prowling closer though. “For two weeks!” Then in desperation, Val turned to point at Chummy, who looked like she was starting to doze off in her comfy armchair. “Use Chummy! She deserves it more, look, she’s not even paying attention!”

Trixie’s eyes cut to the nodding figure before snapping sharply back to the slim brunette who was attempting to scurry away. Quite unsuccessfully, it seemed, due to her impaired co-ordination. “That’s not very sporting, is it Valerie?” The winged woman took delight in drawing out Val’s full name. Delia watched with bated breath, wondering what on earth was going to happen next.

As Trixie trapped her quarry against the arm of the sofa, she reached out and tapped Val on the forehead.

And that was that.

Nothing happened. 

Delia was thoroughly disappointed.

That was until Val stood up straight, her eyes wide, pupils blown to eclipse her irises, and extended a reverent hand to stroke Trixie’s face.

Lucille raised a hand to her mouth to cover a snigger.

“Trixie,” Val sighed.

With a wicked grin, Trixie cooed, “Yes, sweetie?”

“You are sooo beautiful. More beautifuller than the fullest moon on a full night.”

“Oh my,” Barbara whispered with a giggle, “She’s even worse when she’s drunk.”

“You haven’t seen anything yet.” Trixie laughed. “Sweetie?” she pinched Val’s cheek. “Would you do me a favour?”

Val gasped, excitement lighting up her face. “Anything! Anything my love. Your wish is my command! Allow me to prove myself to you.”

“Can you top up Delia’s glass of whiskey?” Trixie sent a wink the Welsh woman’s way.

Val nodded until Delia thought her head might fall off, fumbling over to the bottle on the mantel piece. By some miracle she managed to make it to Delia without tripping over anything, and proceeded to pour the alcohol into her empty tumbler. The problem came when she was too busy gazing at Trixie to notice that she had poured too much. Delia grasped the neck of the bottle and righted it before any of the amber liquid was wasted. “Thank you Val,” she chuckled, “You’re very generous.” Val just beamed and skipped over to her mistress.

“Please make her stop before she does something stupid, like set the sofa on fire to demonstrate her passion.” Lucille pleaded with a groan.

Clearly gaining immense amusement from the whole spectacle, Trixie looked like she might refuse. Then Val tried to press a wet kiss against her cheek, and she conceded, screwing up her face in distaste. “Sorry sweetie, but you’re not really my type.” With another tap to the forehead, Val’s enamoured expression cleared and she shook her head, blinking around her as realization dawned.

“Urgh. Thanks a bunch.” She pouted, rubbing her temples and stomping moodily to drop next to Barbara on the sofa. “Now the hangover’s going to be twice as bad.” Barbara rubbed her back in sympathy.

Delia found herself with a smile on her face, enjoying the camaraderie and the friendly banter. Normally she would be nervous at such a display, but she was surprised to find that she felt completely safe. The mellow lamplight created a homely effect, and the consistent rasp of Chummy’s snores made it hard to feel threatened.

Trixie settled on the arm of the sofa, looking pleased with herself. She tousled Val’s hair, keeping her seat as the other woman tried to push her off. “So Delia, what do you think?”

“This is an awful lot like that ‘Who am I?’ game, isn’t it?” Barbara said happily.

“I think that you are an empath of some sort.” Delia guessed.

Trixie arched a perfectly manicured brow. “Very good. I can project emotions onto someone, or heighten something that they are feeling. It does mean that I am in tune with the emotions of everyone around me, which is something I’ve had to learn to suppress.” The blonde paused, seemingly debating saying more. “I’ll be honest with you, alcohol became my go to coping mechanism when all the feelings just got too much. I don’t drink anymore.” She picked her mug of hot chocolate back up and raised it as if in a toast.

Delia was flattered that Trixie had decided to be so open with her. She smiled kindly and tried to divert the topic from becoming too personal. “Want did you do to Val?”

“She put a bloody love spell on me, that’s what.” Val grumbled.

“No I didn’t,” Trixie refuted, glancing slyly from Val to Lucille. “I just gave steroids to a certain feeling of infatuation that she was displaying.” Val blushed scarlet, staring aghast at Lucille, who just giggled and shook her head. Delia observed the interaction with a perceptive eye.

~*~

Delia discovered a new normal that evening, which was decidedly abnormal to anyone outside of Nonnatus House. Within the space of half an hour, Barbara shape-shifted into a bird, Val really did set something on fire (with her bare hands), and Lucille put it out by creating a new ice sculpture in the living room. She was informed that Chummy, who was still dozing peacefully, was able to change her size without eating the weird mushrooms from Alice in Wonderland, that Jane could turn invisible, and that part of the reason Cynthia was a technology whizz, was that she could generate electricity. Delia had already seen how Phyllis could morph into metal (titanium, she learned) and was Gifted with immense strength because of it, on top of being bullet-proof.

“What about the Sisters?” Delia questioned, “They’re Gifted, aren’t they? I know Winifred can teleport.”

“Oh yes.” Barbara said. “They’re absolute masters at what they do.”

“Except Winifred.” Trixie said bluntly.

“She’s learning, just like us, Trixie.”Barbara huffed. “Ignore her.” She said to Delia.

“If I can become as accomplished as Sister Monica Joan was in her day, then I will die a happy woman.” Lucille announced.

“Monica Joan can manipulate plants.” Trixie explained. “She calls it ‘talking’ to them. I once saw her grow ivy up a wall and ask it to rip the stones apart. The wall exploded. She prefers growing fruit these days though - I’ll tell you what, if you’re ever stuck in the wilderness with her, you’ll never go hungry.” 

Delia smiled, thinking of the wizened old woman she’d met earlier that morning.

“And Sister Evangelina,” Val carried on, “She has x-ray vision. She’s like the ultimate one-woman security team. She’s highly proficient in the martial arts. Don’t go trying to sneak a bomb past her.”

“If there’s anyone I trust with x-ray vision, it’s a nun.” Delia joked, a thrill running through her when she managed to make the others laugh.

“Yes, I don’t think she’s interested in peeking at your underwear.” Lucille giggled.

“What about Sister Julienne?”

“Ah, Sister Julienne is frightfully powerful. She’s telepathic. I don’t know how she coped with hearing voices in her head when she was young, it was hard enough for me with emotions.” Trixie remarked. “The thing is, she’s able to operate globally. She can sift through all of the people on the planet and pinpoint one out of seven billion.”

“You mean she can read minds?” Delia asked, a shiver running through her. Is that what she had been doing to Delia this whole time? Maybe that’s really how she knew so much about her.

“Yes,” Barbara clarified, “But don’t worry. She’s very respectful. She wouldn’t do it without your consent… unless it was necessary.” As Barbara shifted awkwardly in her seat, Delia wondered what was construed as ‘necessary’. Say, when interrogating a suspected spy?

“Sister Julienne is the mastermind behind everything we do here. I assume you’ve been told how Nonnatus House works?” Trixie asked.

Delia nodded, placing her half empty whiskey glass on the coffee table. She’d better not drink anymore tonight; she already felt as if a fog had descended upon the room, heavy and warm.

“Her Gift comes in very handy when we’re after a mark. She can track their location, gauge what they’re planning to do next; their state of mind. She can even communicate with them if they are close enough. We don't need earpieces when she's in the field.”

“Yeah, like she can get into your head.” Val expanded, not helping to assuage Delia’s unease.

“Anyway,” Trixie said, her eyes lighting with mischief, “I think it’s high time we got a demonstration from you, Delia.” 

Delia winced; she’d almost forgotten about that. But the others seemed to perk up at the blonde’s suggestion and Delia couldn’t turn them down after how accommodating they’d been. For the first time ever, there was no reason why she shouldn’t do it, either.

“Hey, let me wake Chummy up, this should be good.” Val said, stumbling up and dislodging Trixie who was leaning on her shoulder.

“Do you even know what I can do?” Delia asked, shocked that they were so keen.

“You’re an illusionist.” Trixie said casually. “But that can mean a lot of things.”

Delia remembered that Trixie must have been in the room when Cynthia first looked up her life’s history. She shrugged, coming to accept that she was hardly a woman of mystery among these people.

“Alright then.” She shifted to the edge of her seat as Chummy got shaken awake with a snort.

“Steady on, old bean!” the woman exclaimed, righting her wonky glasses.

“Sorry, Chummy,” Valerie apologised, “but you’ll miss the great finale of the night; Delia’s about to perform.”

“Oh jolly good.” Chummy beamed. “I do apologise, I’m afraid I imbibed rather too much whiskey.” Heaving herself up, she sat straight, while the other four women squeezed themselves onto the sofa across from Delia. They all blinked at her expectantly.

Delia, for her part, really did feel like she was expected to put on a grand performance and grew anxious that she would disappoint her new colleagues. 

Still sitting down, she planted her feet firmly on the floor, breathed in a few deep breaths and focused herself. Then she made an explosive hand gesture and a dozen small fireworks went off simultaneously in the room – miniature versions that lit up the corners of the ceiling as if to prove there were no cobwebs there.

Val shrieked and clung to Lucille, while Chummy clapped her hands in delight. “Oh how marvellous!” she chortled.

Trixie looked decidedly unimpressed, so Delia decided to up her game. “Don’t worry, I’m just warming up.” She assured.

Centering herself once more, she searched for inspiration before recalling her time in the garden with Patsy earlier that day. Smiling, she began to project her mind outwards.

In front of the eyes of the room, creepers and vines began to weave up the walls; the door transformed inch by inch into a delicate wrought iron gate; grass sprouted from the carpet, along with dainty wildflowers which bloomed in the lamplight. The lamps themselves grew into sapling trees, while the light of the room seemed to shine from the ceiling where a great chalk-white orb was suspended in imitation of a rising moon. Delia couldn’t help adding a fresh breeze which carried with it the faintest whiff of cigarette smoke.

Gasps came from the women opposite and Delia snapped her eyes open, holding the image as she watched her companions twist their heads from side to side, eyes wide. Trixie shrugged nonchalantly. “It’s believable enough, I suppose.”

Beginning to take offence at the suggestion that her Gift was inadequate in some way, Delia decided to pull out all of the stoppers. She would not be treated like a mediocre magician with a box of cheap tricks, thank you very much. She dropped the illusion like a stage curtain and stood to her feet.

She was met with some disappointed noises, but the others seemed mainly curious as Delia advanced towards Trixie, intending to give her a taste of her own medicine. “Alright, Trixie, you can be my volunteer for the demonstration of my next stunt.”

Trixie maintained her smug façade, leaning back against the sofa cushions with her arms crossed. “Where do you want me?”

“Right there will do just fine.” Delia assured.

She looked straight into Trixie’s eyes, conjuring the scenario she wanted to project in her mind, before she pushed it out towards the other woman. She did not blink, and neither did the blonde.

To the other onlookers, it simply looked as if the pair were having a regular blink-first-and- you’re-a-chicken type stand-off, but Delia and Trixie were in a world entirely of the Welsh Woman’s creation.

To them, Trixie was flying. _Trixie believed it too. She was suspended in the air, her feet trailing over a wide river with the hulking shoulders of the jungle edging her in on either side. She could feel the warm wind on her face, the humidity of the air. Her well-tailored clothes clung to her skin, damp with perspiration, and to the blonde’s distress, she could feel her hair wilting. A ticking sound became audible to her ear. Like a clock, but not. It beat a regular rhythm and was getting closer with each passing second. Trixie spun in the air, maintaining the buzz of her wings, only to find that she was completely alone. There were no other signs of animal life, and she suddenly felt very isolated, the blankness of the sky an oppressive weight above her. The ticking was definitely louder, and, she realized with a shock, directly below her feet. She was almost afraid to look down. Almost. What she found when she did, did not reassure her in the slightest. Trixie screamed._

Back in the living room of Nonnatus House, Trixie screamed. The onlookers jumped.

_Trixie flew upwards with as much speed as she could muster. A monstrous alligator burst from the murky waters below, jaws open and salivating in readiness for its prey…_

Delia blinked. The spell was broken. Trixie stopped screaming and the others around them stopped their frantic debate on whether to interrupt what was going on or not.

There was nought but the sound of heavy breathing for a few suspended moments.

“Jesus Christ.” Trixie breathed, beginning to shake as the adrenaline wore off. She was pale and looked considerably smaller as she slouched between Barbara and Val.

“What happened?! Are you okay?” Barbara fretted, her hands hovering anxiously over her friend, just shy of touching.

Val looked at Delia with a hard stare, clearly trying to work out if she was a threat. Delia was saved from having to jump to her own defence when the blonde began laughing. It started out a bit hysterically at first, but settled into the full-bellied kind of humour that causes fat tears to roll. The tension eased.

“Woah,” Trixie breathed, wiping her face with her sleeve. “Was that some kind of acid-fuelled take on me being Tinkerbell?” Delia let herself chuckle, relieved that she wasn’t the one getting her head bitten off back in the real world.

“It was a crocodile in Peter Pan.” She pointed out.

“Okay,” Val said with no comprehension of the humour in this situation. “Can someone please explain what just happened?”

“Delia got one up on me, that’s what happened.” Trixie enlightened them, a glimmer of respect shining in her eyes.

The others didn’t look very enlightened. More perturbed than anything.

“I can project scenarios into people’s heads.” Delia explained. “I can only do it on one person at a time. It takes a lot of focus.”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’ll train you up in no time. You’ll be able to do that to an entire stadium.” Trixie enthused, clearly warming up to Delia’s Gift.

Gratified, Delia explained some more, “Sometimes, if it’s just a small change to their reality, I can drop the illusion in their mind and leave it there. Like, if I wanted Barbara to think that lamp shade was yellow instead of green, I wouldn’t even have to be in the house to sustain the illusion.”

The others nodded, impressed.

“So, what did you see?” Lucille asked the winged woman curiously.

“Delia tried to make a ticking-caiman eat me alive.” Trixie said jovially.

A beat passed and then it was Val’s time to start laughing.

“Oh hell yes,” she wheezed between hysterics, “serves you right, bitch! What goes around comes around!”

“My sentiments exactly.” Chummy said, “Jolly good!” She affirmed again.

Delia felt weirdly accepted.

~*~

Delia felt buzzed.

Whether it was the alcohol or the freedom that came from using her Gift, she didn’t know. But when her new acquaintances started exaggerating their yawns and heading for bed, Delia knew she wouldn’t be able to sleep.

She decided to head to the kitchen and whip herself up a hot chocolate, rummaging around until she found a tub of Cadbury’s cocoa powder shoved behind a jar of pickles in brine; clearly in a shoddy attempt to hide it. Too bad that Delia was like a blood hound when it came to chocolate. Much like Monica Joan and sugar, so she’d heard, feeling happy to have learnt more about these women she was to live with.

She dropped down from the chair she’d had to pull up to reach the highest cupboard, and stared at the single mug on the counter, tapping her finger against the countertop, lips pursed.

In a last moment decision, she pulled out a second mug, choosing one that had _blood of my enemies_ inscribed on the side, to place next to her chipped one with the dinosaur on it. It suited the Gothic theme of the house at any rate.

Once the milk was boiled she mixed it into the powder in each cup and shoved the pan in the sink. She felt confident enough that she wouldn’t be tortured for neglecting the washing-up to leave it for the morning. Almost as an after-thought she splashed a liberal helping of the whiskey into both mugs. Then, taking a deep breath, she made her way to where Barbara said the basement was.

Rather than the dungeon-like cellar she was expecting, Delia discovered, to her surprise, that ‘the basement’ was in fact an in-built laboratory level. The corridor she descended into reminded her of the sterile hallways of The London, with linoleum flooring that smelled of bleach, and various doors of glass, or just solid metal which she frustratingly couldn’t see through. The majority of them possessed a key-pad, and Delia did notice one subtly placed camera. She smiled at it, waving as best she could with two mugs in her hands. The red recording light just blinked back at her, unimpressed. She wondered who reviewed the video footage on the other end.

Looking from left to right, Delia was uncertain where to go to find the person she was looking for. Blowing her fringe out of her eyes with a huff, she decided to set off and hope for the best.

~*~

Patsy lay on her back with her arms folded beneath her head, staring at the ceiling, contemplating life, death, and all the excruciating living in between. She was so deep into her existential pondering that she swore she almost passed through to ‘the other side’ when a tap came at her goldfish window.

That was what she affectionately called it; a goldfish window, suitable for all kinds of medical voyeurs to peer in and observe a ginger’s monotonous sufferings. Okay, so she was prone to circling her own head with broody self-loathing, but sue her. She’d earned it.

Instead of Doctor Turner (either or both), her heart almost stopped a second time when she saw the rosy cheeks of one Delia Busby popping a dimple on the other side of the glass. Impossibly, the small brunette grinned still further when their eyes met, and raised a steaming mug as if in greeting.

Patsy swore she was hallucinating.

She watched dazedly as Delia’s lips moved in speech, but the room was sealed and Patsy couldn’t hear anything. Generally people left her alone down here. She got the impression the sterile environment made her friends uncomfortable – not that the room was designed for comfort, and for good reason – but she’d never had a visitor that was not interested in making an examination of some kind. Yet here was this spit-fire woman she’d only just met, bringing her…beverages?

Realising that she was simply staring, Patsy shook herself and rose to open the door. It unlocked under the heat of her hand with a low hiss.

“Fancy a hot chocolate with a tot of Johnny Walker in it?” came the bright voice.

Patsy just continued to stare with wide eyes.

Delia’s smile dimmed a little, a crease folding into her brow in concern. Well, that simply wouldn’t do, and Patsy stumbled to correct herself.

“Umm…hello. Hi. Yes…please?” God, she sounded like a right wanker. Smooth Mount, smooth. “I mean, please come in.” The redhead stepped to the side and held the door open, screwing her eyes shut in exasperation at her own behaviour.

Delia stepped carefully inside and looked around the room as if it was a treasure trove containing endlessly fascinating artefacts. When she turned back to face her, she looked at Patsy like she was one of those artefacts. 

Jabberwokies whiffled within the cavern of Patsy’s torso and she tried not to do anything embarrassing, like wet herself. Not that she’s ever done that. In her adult years.

Thankfully Delia didn’t comment on the room or Patsy’s burning complexion, which she was sure was as bright as her hair.

“So?” Delia questioned, holding out one mug. Patsy accepted it with reverent hands, as if Delia’s heart was slopping around somewhere inside. Psh. Like that would ever happen. A beautiful woman just waltzing in and handing her their heart. “You needn’t look so worried. It’s not poisoned.” Delia assured with a small giggle which didn’t help the steadiness of Patsy’s grip. The Jabberwokies inside her burbled.

“Thank you. I’m not used to room service.” Patsy managed. Delia just continued to smile pleasantly back at her. They stayed smiling at one another stupidly for several seconds until Patsy remembered her manners and gestured to her mattress, which lay in the middle of the room. “Would you like a seat?” She offered.

Delia nodded, and jumped happily onto her makeshift bed. A slosh of liquid spattered her t-shirt and she looked down at it in consternation. “Oh. That was fresh on today.”

Patsy grimaced in sympathy, moving to sit next to her. “Don’t rub it or you’ll never get it out.” She reached into the pocket of her plaid pyjamas and pulled out a packet of tissues. “Here. I always keep these on me. Just blot off the excess and wash it ASAP.” 

Delia’s eyebrows raised but she accepted the tissues. “Are you a laundry expert too?”

Patsy felt her neck flush. She tried not to look at where Delia had started dabbing at her chest; tried being the operative word. “I swear I recognize that t-shirt.” She said after a moment’s contemplation. She clicked her fingers as it occurred to her. “Jenny Lee. A nurse who worked here not too long ago. It was one of hers. Have you been in the lost-property cupboard?”

“Guilty as charged.” Delia answered cheekily, giving up with the stain and folding a leg to angle herself more towards Patsy. Her drink wavered dangerously in her hand again, and Patsy mentally crossed her fingers, hoping she wouldn’t spill any on her bedding. “Can I ask why you have a lost-property cupboard? Do people donate clothing to Nonnatus House, or do patients just inexplicably disappear and you steal their belongings?”

Patsy chuckled, looking down shyly at the teasing. “It’s an accumulation of unwanted or misplaced things that have gathered over the years. It comes in very handy for undercover work sometimes. Or when we receive patients who have no possessions. It happens more than you’d hope.”

Delia absorbed this information, seemingly gearing up to something. “So you’re really all secret agents?” she asked. Patsy was taken aback by the vulnerability in her voice, struck with the urge to reach out and comfort her. She was reminded that she was not the only one who had to adjust to great change over the past day.

“That’s one way to put it, yes. Though we don’t really work directly for the Government.”

“And you’re a doctor as well?”

“I am.”

Delia nodded. “Do I have to go through, like, spy training or something?”

Patsy smirked. “There will be some intensive training, yes. But don’t worry. I’ll be going through it right along with you. Three months in a hospital bed doesn’t do much for one’s physical capabilities.” That didn’t seem to console Delia much. “Honestly, you’ll be fine, and they’ll never make you do anything you don’t want to or you’re not ready for. They just want you to be prepared in case you ever do want to work in the field. But, it is ultimately your choice. I know Jane prefers to work primarily on medical.”

Delia nodded again, sipping from her mug, and Patsy was reminded of her own drink. Taking a mouthful, she found herself coughing. “How much whiskey is in this?!” she spluttered.

Delia perked up a bit in amusement. “Val poured me a bit too much earlier, under Trixie’s influence. I was just using up the excess.”

“Ah, so you’ve seen Trixie in action?”

Delia laughed, “Yes, and it was quite something to behold.”

Patsy wanted to ask what Delia’s Gift was. She hadn’t wanted to invade the woman’s privacy by reading up on her, although Sister Julienne had given her the choice earlier. Julienne had also relayed what Delia told her about Patsy’s confinement in The London. The Welsh woman didn’t know that though.

Patsy jolted as she realised Delia was studying her. “They really care about you, you know? The others.” The redhead felt her immediate defensive response flare up at whatever insinuation was behind those words, but forced herself to bite her tongue. She didn’t want to snap at the kind woman in front of her.

“I know, and I’m grateful, but I’m fine.” She said firmly.

Delia raised her eyebrows but let it drop.

“I suppose you’ve all been talking about me behind my back?” Patsy couldn’t help pressing, regretting her tone immediately. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that.”

Delia shook her head as if to say it didn’t matter. “It feels like all I’ve done since I met you is talk about you.” Delia chuckled wryly. “I came here because I thought that you might like an update on your own life,” she eyed Patsy warily, “but, if you’d like to be left alone -”

“No! No. Don’t worry.” Patsy found she didn’t want Delia to go. She sighed. “I can be a right cad sometimes. I’m not always a people person.” She supplied with a tight grimace. “It’s nice though, you coming down here.” She avoided Delia’s eyes, picking at a thread on her duvet.

Delia’s hand came into her line of sight and settled on her own. The soft touch reverberated down Patsy’s arm and ruffled the pack of Jabberwockies in her stomach. Patsy nervously raised her gaze again to look into gentle blue.

“Just know that if you want to talk, I’ll be here.” She smiled, and great. Now Patsy felt like crying. She gave back a wobbly smile of her own.

“Hey,” Delia said, “Let me show you something. I bet you’re curious.” Winking – bloody winking! – the woman pulled Patsy’s hand into her lap and cupped it in both of her own. She curled the redhead’s fingers to make a fist and then released her.

Patsy’s heart was palpitating so fast it felt like the sticky floor of an underground rave. She stared in confusion at the back of her own fist.

“Open it.” Delia prompted. So she did.

A beautiful peacock butterfly fluttered up from her open palm. Patsy laughed in delight, her eyes wide as she watched the small creature flitter from corner to corner of the bare room. A trail of rusty colouring sparked in its wake before drifting to the floor like glitter, and the blue eyes of its wings blinked rapidly with each thump of its flight.

“That’s incredible!” Patsy gasped. “How do you do that?”

Delia flushed a pretty pink at the compliment, a look on her face as she watched Patsy’s obvious glee that the redhead couldn’t decipher. “Oh, it’s just a party trick really. I picture it in my head, and there it is.”

“That’s some imagination.” Patsy breathed, eyes still following the winged thing as it meandered overhead.

Delia made it come close and perch on the tip of Patsy’s nose, laughing unabashedly as the redhead tipped her face back, going cross-eyed while she tried to keep sight of it. Then Delia reached out her hand and caught it, closing her palm and dissolving the illusion.

Patsy’s initial disappointment was quelled as the two found themselves staring at one another once more, smiles tickling the corners of their mouths. Patsy swallowed. She felt like she should show Delia her Gift, but she was nervous. The Welsh woman had seen her use it already, and not in a way Patsy would ever have wanted. _What does she think of me?_ Patsy wondered. Furthermore, there was a lack of items in the room for Patsy to demonstrate properly.

Delia must have sensed her fretting, because she just smiled further until her dimples popped. “It’s okay.” She assured, and Patsy believed her, letting the Welsh accent roll over her like a cloud of marijuana smoke. After another bout of friendly gazing, Delia whispered, “I should go. It’s late, and…I’m pretty tipsy.”

Patsy huffed out a laugh, the tension in her shoulders relaxing. She nodded and saw Delia to the door. The two whispered their good nights, afraid to disturb the soft ambience which had settled around them, and then Delia was gone.

Patsy didn’t know for how long she stood at the door. All she knew was that when she returned to bed, the only thing that stopped her from being convinced the whole thing was a hallucination was a drop of hot chocolate spattered on her pillow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say thank you for all of the kudos and the lovely comments, I'm so pleased and flattered that you're enjoying this so far!
> 
> On that note, I will warn you that updates might take a bit longer from here on out due to a thing called life, but I'll still try to post a new chapter weekly. 
> 
> Take care and until next time xx


	7. Learning the Ropes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Delia learns her way around life at Nonnatus and discovers more about Patsy's Gift.

Delia groaned as her back hit the mats. Again. Apparently the ‘physical evaluation’ that Sister Julienne had promised the day before was just to examine how much of a beating she could take.

“Come on Welshie, up and at em’!” Trixie goaded from her high horse.

Delia pictured Trixie on a literal horse and then imagined that horse bolting, leaving its rider in a muddy heap on the ground, cartoon flies hovering above her head. She just about stopped herself from projecting the scenario onto the other woman. Just…

A hand reached down and hefted up her reluctant body by the scruff of her t-shirt. “Alright, alright.” Delia muttered, jerking herself away and smoothing down her rumpled clothing. She turned back to her blonde opponent, pulling her fists up in a basic guard. She’d tussled with the boys in her neighbourhood growing up. She wasn’t a complete novice to the art of butt-whooping, in fact, she used to be rather good at it.

“There we go, the dragon has fire after all!” Trixie called as she circled.

Delia glared at her, wishing she really could breathe fire. This time when the blonde came forwards, Delia was ready, stepping into her and managing to hook one leg ungracefully behind the other woman’s, buckling her knee and taking her to the floor. Unfortunately, the tangle of their limbs meant that Delia was also pulled to the ground, coming down on top of the blonde with a solid thump.

“Ugh.” Trixie breathed, winded.

“Oh gosh, I’m sorry!” Delia apologised, jumping to her feet more urgently than any other time in the past hour. “Are you alright?”

Trixie just looked up at her, smirk in place. “That’s more like it! Not too shabby. A little ungainly maybe, but we can work with that. You should have seen Chummy when she first started! Actually…you should see Chummy now.” Delia accepted the odd praise, and helped the other woman to her feet. 

“Now, why don’t we move onto something else?” The empath suggested, beginning to unwrap the bindings which kept her wings in place and ensured they didn’t get damaged.

Delia wasn’t sure she liked the sound of ‘something else’. Trixie had already taken her to the clinic, a fifteen minute walk away in Poplar. Delia had been forced to wear a balaclava to hide her face, which she wasn’t too happy about. It made her feel more of a criminal than a spy, but apparently a fugitive couldn’t be too careful. 

There she’d had a physical health examination by Doctor Turner, who then proceeded to quiz her medical knowledge. She liked the man well enough upon her first meeting, even if she was intimidated by the sheer level of intellect he clearly possessed.

Her confidence didn’t improve upon meeting Doctor Shelagh Turner for her psychological evaluation. The woman was just as formidably intelligent, and she could see why the pair made such a good match. They may have been the only two people on earth who could keep up with one another.

Doctor Turner had handed her back to Trixie who gave her a tour of the place. Delia had then shadowed her as she took over from Chummy for a couple of hours. The routine was familiar enough, and Delia was confident that she could adjust fairly quickly. 

The hardest part was meeting with the actual patients. There were only six of them currently bed bound at the clinic, but it was clear they had suffered significant trauma. Delia knew that in stressful and harmful circumstances, an individual’s Gift could be corrupted and the individual could display abilities not previously seen before; often occurring at unpredictable times and in a dangerous manner. It made caring for them a unique challenge. 

At The London, those patients were deemed unstable and placed on the ‘high risk’ ward that Delia worked. However, Delia had also been assigned to the ward for coma patients who were deemed a ‘high _security_ risk’ when awake. People who would willingly use their gifts to harm others: criminals and psychopaths who were unable to be held elsewhere for (so say) 'medical' reasons.

This was where she had discovered Patsy.

In hind sight, Delia probably should have taken more notice of that particular detail before executing her brilliant rescue plan.

At Nonnatus, each nurse was assigned to the care of one or two patients in order to assure that they got the best possible treatment. Trixie introduced all six patients.

“This is Edward,” Trixie had said, pointing to a young man of about twenty, who sat up at the attention and smiled wanly. “He’s been with us for two weeks now. Barbara, Chummy and Sister Evangelina picked him up. He was kept in a cage next to lions in an illegal travelling circus.”

“I can talk to animals.” Edward had explained meekly. 

As they’d walked away, Delia could not help but stare at the monkey tail which flicked out from underneath the young man’s bed sheets.

Delia met Anne, a forty-eight year old recovered along with Janet and Markus, mother and son. The three of them were chained in a cellar somewhere, used as slave labour for their distinctive ability to produce silk. Then there was Abigail, best in her high school at the high jump until she jumped a little too high to be normal, and ended up on the streets after her parents disowned her. Midge was a strange little thing rescued from a cage fighting club. Age undetermined; they did not speak, but their sharp teeth and claws clearly distinguished them as Gifted.

Delia learned all types of stories that morning about patients past and present. The standard treatment was for malnutrition and moderate bodily harm, such as sores, abrasions, the odd broken bone and other injuries of abuse, but occasionally the Nonnatuns would retrieve individuals who were mortally wounded or near death. The worst Trixie had seen, she said, was a truck-load of Gifted refugees who had been haphazardly fired upon as they tried to escape through a wheat field.

“It was like a war zone; a no-man’s land.” Trixie had murmured with a haunted look in her eye. “Bullets, and blood, and fire.” Delia hadn’t wanted to ask many questions after that.

All patients were seen to regularly by Doctor Shelagh Turner for psychological therapy, and many chose to remain in the town of Poplar once they had sufficiently recovered, feeling safe in a Gifted community that had the necessary support systems in place. Delia learned that as part of her duties as a Nonnatun, she must take shifts doing house visits to registered patients.

Gifted communities like Polar were few and far between, Delia knew, and as easy as it was to feel safer within a neighbourhood of a similar demographic to your own, Gifted towns always attracted attention from the authorities. They were closely monitored and only permitted because it made it easier to keep an eye on the Gifted people in the country who had the required permits to work outside the Institutes. In fact, it was extremely rare for those individuals to be permitted to live anywhere other than a Gifted town; anywhere more anonymous.

When they had returned from the clinic to Nonnatus House, Trixie had shown her the clinical room, the telephone room, and three bedrooms that could house patients during a long recovery period, before leading her down to the basement without a word. Delia had done her best to look suitably impressed, as if she hadn’t been there the night before, and was seeing it for the first time. To be honest, now that she was no longer inebriated, she felt better able to take in her surroundings.

“This is where the Turners conduct more…confidential research.” Trixie had said vaguely, waving a hand at a couple of rooms with glass doors through which Delia could see all manner of expensive-looking scientific equipment.

Other than that the blonde had bypassed the majority of rooms, only pausing to point at where the corridor turned a corner; where Delia knew Patsy’s room to be. “There’s holding cells down that way for when we have to detain difficult targets.” She’d explained.

Delia chose not to add the implicit 'and Patsy'.

After that, the blonde had keyed in a code to one of the larger metal doors, and it had swung open to reveal a very long, wide open space with mats taking up a good portion of it. At the far end there were ropes hanging from the ceiling, netting on one wall, and different levels of platforms and bars, with soft padding dotted around like some kind of jungle gym. Closer to the doorway there was a row of punching bags, a couple of treadmills, rowing machines and some weight-training equipment, as well martial arts gear such as Wing Chun posts.

It was like an adult’s playground, and every fitness enthusiast’s dream. Delia had gaped.

“Wait until you see the ballistic dummies in the gun range.” Trixie had grinned, proud to show off the apparatus.

“Guns?” Delia had squeaked.

She wasn’t sure she was ready for this.

The Welsh woman would not have considered herself unfit. In fact, exercise was the method she had used to unwind in her daily life. She cycled everywhere, often ran when she had a free morning, and had become quite invested in Parkour. She would not yet consider herself proficient, but she definitely had the basics down.

Returning to the present, where Trixie’s threat of doing ‘something else’ now hung above her head, Delia was eyeing the blocks, bars and ropes at the far end with undisguised longing.

Trixie chuckled. “Nope, you’re not touching anything else in here until you’ve passed the next phase of assessment.”

Delia’s shoulders slumped. Her body ached, and she did her best not to feel disappointed in herself. She had never trained martial arts before – it was not permitted for Gifted; like alcohol, it was seen to make them more dangerous – but she was beginning to learn that it was something her body would have to adjust to.

Seeing her forlorn expression, Trixie sighed, clapping her on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. The first few weeks are always the hardest. I dare say you’ll have your opportunity to show off your Parkour skills soon though. I for one am intrigued to see you in action.”

Delia grimaced. She wanted to tell her self-doubt to get bent, but having been thrown to the floor so many times in the past hour, she was feeling pretty low. She hoped she could live up to Trixie’s expectations.

“Oh, don’t look so glum.” Trixie rebuked. “Come on, this’ll be fun.” It soon became clear that they weren’t going anywhere, as Trixie positioned Delia on the mats to face her again. “Right, I’m going to come at you – slowly, mind – and I want you to move away until you feel you can use your Gift to stop me, okay? And I only want to see you use your Gift. You are not allowed to engage physically. This part is a test of how proficient your control over your ability is. It’s okay if you find it hard at first. That’s normal. You’ll get better.”

Delia swallowed and nodded her understanding. She raised her guard again out of instinct.

Trixie laughed. “Relax, sweetie. Just trust yourself.”

Before the winged woman could make a move, however, the large door clicked open, and a strong Northern voice filtered into the room.

“We’ll start off gentle, lass, get your body moving again, build up strength -” Phyllis walked into the room, and after her, a ginger head poked around the door frame.

Patsy.

Delia blushed, suddenly conscious of her sweaty appearance and mismatched training clothes. She tried to subtly wipe back her fringe from where it was stuck to her forehead.

“Ah, Nurse Franklin, Nurse Busby.” The older woman nodded to them each in turn. “Please don’t mind us, we’re just getting Doctor Mount here back into a routine.”

Patsy smiled at them, tucking a loose piece of hair behind her ear. Delia’s eyes lingered on the movement before trailing downwards. She tried not to be too obvious in her appraisal of Patsy’s tight-fitting leggings.

“I hope Trixie’s treating you well.” The redhead said to her.

“Hey! I resent what you’re implying!” Trixie objected, “I can be perfectly civil when training new recruits, thank you very much.”

Patsy adopted a sceptical look, a lethal raise of her brow the only answer she gave.

Trixie glowered at her. “Bugger off to your pansy machines and let us continue with the real work.”

“Now, now, you two. If you want to fight, you can do so in your own time. We have a schedule to keep. And Trixie…do go easy, won’t you?” Phyllis cut short their banter.

Trixie huffed in disbelief, looking affronted, and Delia tried to hide her smirk when she found herself pinned under the woman’s steely glare. “Tell them, Delia. Tell them what a good teacher I am.”

Delia just shifted her bare feet, her skin sticking to the mats unpleasantly. “Well…she certainly makes you want to hit her.” She admitted to the other two.

Patsy guffawed, highly amused. “I think that speaks for itself, don’t you?” She asked Phyllis. The Northener just shook her head and guided her companion to the treadmills.

“Good luck!” Patsy called to Delia over her shoulder.

As Trixie rounded on Delia with narrowed eyes, the Welsh woman felt she would need it. She gulped, trying to become the epitome of innocence as she scrambled to retreat backwards. The blonde gave her a smile so fake that Delia swore she could see it peeling off her face. “Ready, sweetie?”

 _No_ , she thought with emphasis.

The session didn’t get much better after that, and Delia ended up with a few more bruises than she felt were necessary. Then again, that could have been because she was distracted. The sight of Patsy sweating in the corner was far more attractive than Delia dared to admit.

~*~

It had been a hard day and Delia didn’t feel much like socialising. In fact, after a shower and dinner, she practically passed out on her bed. When she woke up again it was eleven thirty at night, and no matter how she tried, she just couldn’t get back to sleep again.

Her thoughts naturally turned to the redhead in the basement.

There was just something about the woman. Delia figured that some people in life simply drew you in more than others. Patsy was such an enigma, even now that Delia could observe her while awake, walking and talking and interacting in her natural environment. She didn’t want to pry though. Patsy seemed like an extremely private person, and she wanted the other woman to feel comfortable revealing things about herself in her own time. If that time ever came. Delia didn’t like to presume that her infatuation – she didn’t want to call it an infatuation, but, come on, that’s what it was – was reciprocated.

She grinned to herself, remembering the night before. She seemed to have caught Patsy off guard. Having acted so incredibly self-possessed at first, the redhead had been endearingly flustered when confronted in her own space.

Delia swung her legs over the side of the bed, slipping her feet into her shoes. Maybe Patsy would also be awake at this hour. She got the impression that lack of sleep was another bad habit of hers.

Deciding to forgo the hot chocolate this time, she nabbed a bottle of scotch from the stash she had identified as Val’s. Alcohol was an ice breaker after all.

 _Hey, Patsy, I know it’s late_ , Delia could imagine saying, _but maybe this fine bottle of single malt will distract you from the fact you’ve acquired a stalker._ She rolled her eyes at herself.

Creeping awkwardly through the house, Delia persuaded herself that she was simply practising her skills of espionage. When she came to the window to Patsy’s room, however, she had no excuse for skulking in the shadows. She just couldn’t bring herself to interrupt the intriguing sight in front of her. What on earth was the woman doing?

Patsy was sat cross legged on the floor, her mattress pushed to the side of the room. Five pencils lay in front of her in a line so neat it would make a mathematician weep for joy.

As Delia watched, Patsy placed her hands on her knees as if meditating, closing her eyes. A moment later, the five pencils rose into the air before her. Delia’s mouth dropped open; she wasn’t aware Patsy had telekinesis. 

It didn’t stop there though. The redhead twitched the index and pointer fingers of both hands where they lay in her lap, and the wooden pencil casings flew apart, falling to the floor. Only the graphite leads now rotated lazily in the air. Slowly Patsy’s hair began to lift around her shoulders with the same static energy Delia had experienced before. 

She observed the other woman breathe deeply, her diaphragm expanding beneath the loose material of her flannel pyjamas. Then her forehead scrunched up in concentration and her hands balled into fists. She opened her eyes and stared at the floating pencil leads. Delia was expecting lasers to erupt from her eyeballs with the intensity of her gaze, but something rather more astonishing happened.

The graphite leads converged together, almost seeming to absorb into one another. They began to spin, and spin so fast that the material was simply a blur to Delia’s eyes. All she could see was that the substance became more spherical in shape and lighter in colour, until it stopped spinning altogether. Hanging there, suspended, was a small, transparent rock.

Patsy’s auburn locks drifted back down to rest upon her shoulders. She seemed to observe her work for a moment before she raised a hand tentatively toward it. Just before touching the thing, she stopped. With the tip of her thumb, she made minute cutting motions in the air, as if putting the finishing touches on a charcoal drawing. Fragments of the rock began to chip away, and it became clear that she was shaping it, creating planes on its surface until it took the shape of a standard diamond.

The scotch bottle Delia had clutched to her chest swung down to knock against her knee as her arms fell limp. She blinked. Patsy had just made a pure diamond out of five graphite pencils.

Before the brunette could recover from her shock, Patsy plucked the rock from the air and, rising elegantly to her feet, made her way to the door, swinging it open.

“Are you just going to stand there and stare, or are you going to come in?” Patsy asked. When she got no response, she held up the diamond and gestured to the alcohol in Delia’s hand. “I’ll trade you.” She flashed her lopsided smirk.

Well. Delia couldn’t refuse that, could she?

~*~

Delia lay across Patsy’s mattress with her elbow propped up, examining the stone in her palm. Next to her, Patsy sat with her back against the wall, taking periodical swigs from the scotch bottle. She nudged the bottle against the back of Delia’s hand and the Welsh woman sat up to receive it.

“I don’t know,” The brunette said as she took a hearty mouthful of the amber liquid, wincing at the strength of it. “Cigarettes and alcohol; you’re a bad influence, Miss Mount.”

The redhead raised an eyebrow, her fish-hook smile tugging on Delia’s gut and causing warmth to spread there. “May I remind you that you’re the one who keeps plying _me_ with alcohol?” She said in that rich timbre of hers.

Delia couldn’t help the grin on her face if she tried. She shrugged. “A minor detail.” She looked back down at the diamond, turning it over, watching how it caught the light. She huffed out an amused breath, shaking her head in wonder. “Didn’t your parents ever teach you just to sing nursery rhymes when you can’t sleep? You don’t have to actually bring Twinkle Twinkle Little Star to earth, you know.”

A shadow seemed to pass over Patsy’s face, but it was gone before Delia could interpret it. “I find practising my abilities tires me out more. Besides, I thought with you being Welsh and all, you’d be more accustomed to counting sheep.”

Delia squinted her eyes, trying to glare at the other woman, but it just caused her to laugh, so she stuck her tongue out instead. “You’re as bad as Trixie, you know that?”

“Oh, trust me, I am well aware.” Patsy chuckled. Gosh, Delia would do anything to keep hearing that sound. Too bad she was about to ruin the moment.

Delia took another sip of liquid courage before she asked, “Can you explain it to me? Your Gift?” 

Patsy looked at her for a moment, debating something in her head, before she snatched back the bottle and took a swig. Tracing a finger around the label, she said, “What do you know about it already?”

Delia reckoned that this conversation could get dark quickly if she started talking about Patsy’s time in The London. She assumed that Sister Julienne had talked to her about it to some extent, but she was still unsure what Patsy knew and didn’t know. She decided to keep it simple. “Molecular Manipulation,” She stated. “That’s what it’s called, at least. I guess you can build stuff, and you can break it down? But that looked almost telekinetic, what you did earlier.”

Patsy hummed, looking off into the distance. “Pretty much hit the nail on the head.” She paused in thought before taking a breath. “When I use my Gift, I can see which elements a material is made of. I can see the atoms, and how they form the molecules, and how those atoms and molecules are bonded together to make a larger structure. I can change that structure by breaking bonds, until all I have is the atomic particles. I can then use those as building blocks to create a new structure. I can only work with what I have, mind; I can’t summon molecules from nothing.”

Patsy’s blue eyes peered intensely into Delia’s own, her brow furrowed and her lips pursed. Delia nodded to show that she was following.

“Take that diamond for example.” She gestured to the stone Delia was fiddling with as she listened. “I took the carbon atoms from the graphite and changed their structure to form diamond. Both materials are composed from different arrangements of carbon atoms, so all I had to do was rearrange the carbon in the graphite to make diamond. In the natural world that process involves an awful lot of heat and pressure sustained over millennia, but part of my Gift is the ability to mimic that in a matter of seconds. That is a simple example, though.” 

Delia didn’t think it sounded simple at all.

“I have spent most of my education studying the molecular and atomic composition of all kinds of substances, so that I have the blue prints to build one thing out of another. Most substances are made of a variety of atoms, so it can become awfully complicated, especially when you take into account the different conditions needed for different types of chemical bonding. It is far easier to dismantle something than it is to build.”

Patsy seemed to stall here. So Delia decided to prompt her. “And the telekinesis?”

“It’s not really telekinesis.” Patsy confessed, rubbing the back of her neck. She shifted her position so that she was sitting straighter and raised the bottle to her lips before thinking better of it. “When I manipulate a particular molecule, I can move it simply by focusing upon it. Generally I can only focus on one type of atom or molecular unit at a time. I can’t move larger structures or groups of molecules that have bonded together. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Delia said. “You can move molecules if they are not bonded to anything else. So you have to break something apart before you can move it?”

“In effect, yes.” Pasty confirmed. “Forming one thing from another requires immense concentration on my part, and tires me out very quickly. Changing the shape of something is less demanding, because it does not involve changing the chemical state or composition, just the distribution of molecules. Dismantling something on the other hand…well, it can be like smashing it. It’s messy and a lot easier. I can focus on all of the units within that structure and move them at once; I don’t need to focus on any one particle, I can just focus on the mass of individual particles.”

Delia swallowed. She thought of what Patsy had done when they were cornered in The London; how she had blown everything in their vicinity to smithereens. That was messy alright.

She glanced at the concrete walls of the bunker they were sitting in, and wondered about the nightmares that Chummy had mentioned Patsy having. “I do have another question, but I don’t want you to answer it if it makes you uncomfortable.” She ventured after a moment, unable to restrain her curiosity. She knew she was pushing, but Patsy was being remarkably forthcoming and she wanted to make the most of it.

Patsy looked at her guardedly but nodded for her to continue.

“What happened at The London when you took out those guards? Do you even remember what happened?” Delia got the sense that she was toeing a line as Patsy placed the scotch bottle on the ground and pushed up from the mattress, putting distance between them. “Never mind,” Delia shot out in an attempt to backtrack and bring her back. She pushed herself up to sit on the edge of the bed. “Just forget I asked - ”

“No.” Patsy stopped Delia’s impending ramble and leant her forehead against the far wall with a sigh. Delia couldn’t gauge her mood until she ran a hand through her hair and turned to face her. “It’s okay. I don’t remember, but I know what happened.” She swallowed heavily. “I just don’t like to talk about it.”

“I’m beginning to sense that’s a theme.” Delia smiled weakly. Thankfully Patsy let out a self-deprecating huff and came back to sit next to Delia on the bed. The Welsh woman picked the scotch back up and offered it to her. She took it, but didn’t drink, just sat picking at the label.

“It’s a self-defence response.” She said after a while. Delia didn’t reply, wondering if she’d elaborate. She didn’t, but instead took a breath and plastered on a chipper expression that was bizarrely discordant with the sincerity of the past confession. “Anyway, that’s enough about me for one evening, I can’t very well reveal all my secrets to you in one night or you’ll tire of me quickly.”

Delia let it pass, but thought that she could spend a lifetime with this woman and she would never tire of her. Not for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not so sure about this section, I've had to split it into two chapters, but I just wanted to show Delia settling in and getting to know Patsy a bit more.
> 
> Oh, and yes, yes I did throw in some GCSE Chemistry - I had to use it for something, right? It's bound to be scientifically inaccurate, and a load of bull, but hopefully you get the gist of what Patsy's Gift is about - if you don't, just let me know and I'll clarify later on.
> 
> Enjoy, and thanks for staying with me! X


	8. Apologetic Pats

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter title says it all.

Delia slumped onto the closest bench in the training hall, guzzling down greedy gulps from her water bottle. She wiped her brow with her t-shirt and grimaced at the wet patch her forehead left on the material.

Phyllis took a seat beside her, slapping her on the back and causing her to almost fall off the bench. “Not bad at all for ten days of training.” She commended.

Delia smiled wearily at her. “Thanks,” she wheezed.

“By my reckoning, Sister Evangelina will pass you for operations by the end of this week.” At Delia’s look of wide-eyed alarm, the Northener went on to assure her. “Calm down, lass. You won’t be in the field for a while, but you’ll be able to start working with a team. The best way to learn is to get stuck right into it. That’s what I always say.”

Delia nodded apprehensively, but the other woman just grinned back at her in proud jubilation. “I knew the moment I saw you, you’d be a good one.” She stated. Delia maintained a healthy amount of scepticism.

A loud smack drew her attention to further down the hall where Patsy had just hit the mats. Hard. Delia almost jumped to her feet in alarm, but she was glad Phyllis’ hand on her arm restrained her, because she wasn’t sure her own legs could support her weight right now.

Patsy and Evangelina had come in mid-way through Delia’s session with Phyllis, but Patsy looked exhausted already. Patches of her face were unusually pale around the exerted flush in her cheeks, and her skin clammy with sweat. Her clothes were baggy on her tall frame; evidence of all the weight and muscle mass she had yet to recover from her time away.

Still, she got to her feet. This was the first time Delia could really observe what the two women were doing, and a leaden weight of concern congealed in her stomach when she realised Patsy wasn’t even trying to defend herself.

Evangelina struck her in the ribs with a round house kick, and she grunted but held her ground. A strike to the stomach, she shifted one foot backwards. A strike to the thigh, her leg wavered but did not buckle.

Delia whipped her head to Phyllis. The other woman was watching the proceedings, her mouth set in a grim line, and didn’t acknowledge Delia’s questioning stare.

Suddenly Patsy was taken off her feet with a sweep kick, and landed heavily on her back. She didn’t move, and Evangelina took a cautious step towards her. Then the redhead’s chest began to heave, her arms jerked to the ground, clawing at the mats. A familiar static energy permeated the air, causing the hairs on the back of Delia’s neck to stand on end.

“Come on, Patsy, control it! That’ a girl.” Evangelina encouraged.

Patsy’s writhing slowed little by little, until she was just lying on the ground with her eyes closed, breathing heavily.

“Alright,” came Evangelina’s gruff voice. “That’s enough for now.” The nun leant down and hoisted the taller woman to her feet with a surprising ease of movement. Patsy swayed slightly, trying to regain her balance, and opened her eyes slowly as if the light hurt them. The Sister gripped her arm to support her. “You’ve done well, no sense in torturing yourself over what can’t be helped. We’ll pick it up again soon.” She nudged the redhead in the direction of her belongings. “Go and rest.”

Patsy nodded, and moved stiffly to the bench opposite Delia’s. She held her head high, her posture ramrod straight, but she could not disguise the slight limp she had acquired. Evangelina watched her go, her face inscrutable.

Phyllis clapped Delia on the shoulder again and stood to her feet. “Well lass,” she said, “I’d best be off.” Her gaze flickered to the figure opposite them as Patsy took a towel from her bag and began to wipe her neck and face. “It might be worth sticking around for a minute, catch your breath.” She winked at Delia suggestively, before heading over to Sister Evangelina.

The pair of older woman took their leave, the nun’s robe swishing about her feet as the door clicked shut. Delia would have wondered how she could bear to train in such attire, but she was too caught up in her concern for the other woman left in the room.

Hauling herself to her feet, Delia shuffled to where Patsy sat. The redhead looked up and gave her a tired smile, before leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes with a deep sigh.

Delia looked at her for a moment before mimicking her actions. After a period of silence, she blinked open an eye. Satisfied Patsy had not passed out or altogether vanished, she closed it again and settled back into position against the wall.

Stillness enveloped them until Patsy chuckled next to her. “What are you doing?” She asked.

Delia blinked both eyes open to find herself being observed by curious blue. “Oh, you know, just catching my breath.” She shrugged.

Patsy’s lips twitched in amusement.

“Why, what were you doing?” Delia asked back in mock seriousness, eyebrows raised.

Patsy laughed fully now, causing Delia to grin, happy that she could lighten Patsy’s mood. “The same, I suppose.” The taller woman said, and Delia was reminded of what had just transpired.

Her brow furrowed as her concern returned. “What kind of training were you doing with Evangelina?”

Patsy tried to hold onto the light-heartedness of the previous moment. “You needn’t worry,” she said jovially, “We’re not going to make you stand there while we pummel you.”

“So why do you have to do it?” Delia said, not seeing the humour. 

Patsy sighed again, and dragged a hand over her ponytail. She bent forwards to rest her elbow on her knees and stared at her bare feet. “It’s physical conditioning. It’s a training technique practised by a lot of martial arts’ systems.” She said with a defensive edge to her tone.

Delia forced herself to be quiet, wanting the woman to continue.

Patsy swallowed, and turned her head but did not meet Delia’s inquisitive gaze. “I need to get used to being hit again so that I can practice self-control. Evangelina wants me to train with you this week as a way of easing me back into combat. If you take me by surprise in the middle of a sparring match, I do not want to lash out with my Gift and have to send you back to your mother in a matchbox.”

When Patsy looked back up at her, the redhead’s gaze was stern but imploring. Delia didn’t know how to feel. This whole violence thing was not natural to her. She didn’t want to see Patsy hurt, but she also didn’t want to return to her Mam in a match box. The shame of it! She’d be buried next to Perry, the beloved Pekingese mutt, she was sure.

_Here lies Delia, beloved daughter who bit the dust in death as hard as she bit the carpet in life._

Quite the epitaph, huh?

But she couldn’t help this growing feeling of frustration that everyone seemed to doubt Patsy’s control, including the woman herself. From what Delia had seen of her abilities, Patsy knew what she was doing with her Gift. What was everyone so afraid of?

“You won’t.” She said simply.

Patsy’s eyes turned hard. “How can you be so sure?”

Delia shrugged. “Because I trust you. You’re not going to lose control, Patsy.”

The redhead stood up abruptly much like she had that time in her room several days ago. Delia clenched her jaw in regret at having aggravated her again. 

“What do you know?” The redhead bit out tersely. “You’ve known me for five minutes, Delia, and within that time you’ve already seen me massacre a dozen people.” With that she grabbed her belongings and strode out of the room without a backwards glance.

Delia sighed, a headache beginning to squeeze her temples. 

That woman was like a pressured coke can waiting to burst. Everyone was clearly afraid that when it happened, she would explode outwards and there would be collateral damage. Delia wasn’t so sure. It seemed to her like when it happened the only one that would be crushed would be Patsy, with her repressed emotions leaking into a sticky puddle on the floor.

If only she would let Delia be there when the time came to mop it up.

~*~

It was late in the afternoon, and Delia was lying on her bed staring blankly at the sunny streak splashed across her ceiling. Her body felt heavy, on the edge of sleep, exhausted from the intense routine that she was still adjusting to. But her mind felt heavy also, sluggish with the medication she had just taken for that niggling headache. It didn’t help that she was constantly examining and re-examining her encounter with Patsy earlier, weighed down by all of the questions that surrounded the woman. She felt guilty. Maybe she should just leave her in peace. Maybe Patsy was just too polite to tell her to butt the hell out of her personal space.

But despite how hard she tried to view it from Patsy’s perspective, the cold brush off she had received earlier still caused an irrational pang of hurt to pulse within her sternum.

Sudden movement outside the door broke her from her hypnotic state.

A floorboard creaked.

She tensed and strained to listen. 

The padding sound of soft footsteps retreating reached her ears.

Delia let out a breath and creased her brow in curiosity, but before she could return to her thoughts, the floorboards creaked a second time, closer than the last, and a shadow become visible on the threshold of her closed door.

Once more it withdrew, and Delia, with a vague sense of amusement, realised that someone must be pacing outside of her room.

Well, there was only one person she could imagine that being. She’d had a single visit from Trixie in the time she’d been here, and the woman had barged straight in. Winifred avoided her like the plague after that first day, and she was friendly enough with Barbara for her to knock straight away. No-one else would really have a reason to visit, dinner being enough of a social occasion to catch up.

Delia smiled to herself and laughed quietly. No, it must be Patsy. Trying to make as little sound as possible, Delia crept over to place her ear against the dark wood of her door.

~*~

Patsy was ridiculous. She was being bloody ridiculous.

Either that or she had developed a heart condition from her time at The London.

A heart condition only brought on by one Delia Busby, it seemed.

Two weeks had passed now since Delia had come into Patsy’s life. The brunette looked to have settled in splendidly, which was more than Patsy could say for herself. She got on with the others like a house on fire. Even Trixie, who was initially mistrustful of the woman, had been irrevocably charmed.

More than that, however, Delia had proven herself to be an exceptionally competent nurse and was taking to her other training like she was born for it. A cloud of positive energy seemed to follow her wherever she went. The woman was sunshine and rainbows personified.

As for Patsy, well. She was the storm cloud, wasn’t she? Yet for some inexplicable reason, Delia just seemed to keep seeking out her company. She couldn’t work it out. Never before had she had such a problem keeping her walls up around another person. Delia had wormed her way into her life with sparkling eyes and proffered drinks, her mischievous grin making it feel like the two of them shared a secret. It was like she had been there all along.

“Fancy a nightcap, Pats?” She’d ask in that lilting Welsh accent to which Patsy was utterly weak.

That was new as well. _Pats_. No one had called her that since her sister, but for the first time ever, Patsy did not mind the association. Instead, a fizzing warmth bloomed in her chest, right under her rib cage, every time the Welsh woman used the nickname. She didn’t want to think too closely about the reasons behind that. She was afraid that she was beginning to like Delia a little too much.

The redhead stopped in her pacing as she reached the end of the hallway for the sixth time in as many minutes. She poked at a peeling flake of wallpaper for a moment before shaking her head and resuming her frantic steps outside what was now Delia’s bedroom. Her hands twitched in need of a cigarette, and she occupied them with the hem of her jumper instead.

She’d cocked up. It was expected, of course. It was only a matter of time. Patsy never had been good at playing with others. Trixie understood. That was why they got on so well, she supposed. Never asked questions and never took each other’s shit.

But Delia. Delia was saintly. Far too saintly for the likes of her. Who risks their life for a perfect stranger? Delia Busby, that’s who.

Patsy chewed her lip, once more gathering the resolve to walk away and spare them both the heartache. It was only going to end badly anyway, no matter what happened with this fragile closeness growing between them.

Something stopped her though; a tugging in her chest, somewhere in approximation to what was left of her heart. 

Delia had said she trusted her. Delia Busby believed in her when she had no reason to, and Patsy had been callous to the only woman who had ever offered her the benefit of the doubt.

Patsy closed her eyes and sighed. No. She’d been an arse. She could at least have the decency to apologise. Being tired and frustrated with her lack of progress in training was no excuse for the way she’d behaved. And if Trixie ever found out how cowardly she was being, the chastisement would be more intolerable than the inevitable teasing when she found out about Patsy’s growing affections for the Welsh woman.

Psyching herself up, Patsy scooped up the mug of tea she had brought with her as an offering and had placed down when her nerves got too shaky. Drinks seemed to be Delia’s language of choice, after all. Maybe this would appease her. Not that she could really call it tea. She’d observed how Delia preferred a drop of tea in milk, rather than the milk-in-tea approach that was customary. Then again, Delia wasn’t really a customary girl. And Patsy liked that just fine.

She smoothed a hand down her jumper and gave it a tug to straighten the non-existent creases. She raised one shaking fist to the door, feeling like she was on the precipice of consolidating the Treaty of Versailles.

Unfortunately for her, the door was tugged open from the other side before she could rap her signature, and Delia stepped through, all energy and wit at the ready. 

Patsy let out a yelp of surprise, stumbling backwards to avoid collision, and causing tea to slosh out of the mug in a tidal wave which broke down the front of her clothes.

There was silence as both women just stared at Patsy’s sodden front.

“I am so sorry.” Delia stated as if the fate of planet Earth relied upon the solemnity of her apology.

Patsy plucked at the soggy wool of her favourite jumper, and shifted where she stood, fabric sticking to her uncomfortably. At least there wasn’t much on the carpet, she thought offhandedly; that stuff’s a bitch to clean.

“ ‘s okay,” she mumbled, “tea was cold anyway.”

Delia rubbed her chin against the arm which was holding the door open, looking as if she was trying to contain laughter. “You brought me tea?” she asked with what sounded like fondness, but couldn’t possibly be.

“One milky brew, just the way you like it.” Patsy said dazedly, swallowing as she took in the gentle expression on the other woman’s face. Her cheek rested against her arm where it was propped against the door, and Patsy felt those Jabberwokies burble in her guts again. At least she was pretty sure it wasn’t trapped wind.

When it became apparent that Patsy was just going to blink dumbly, Delia gently prised the empty mug from her tight grip, smiling at the dinosaur on it. Yes, okay, so Patsy knew her favourite mug. She had a good memory, alright? It wasn’t like she was keeping notes on the woman.

“Come on, you fool.” The small brunette said, before grabbing a fistful of Patsy’s top, dragging her into the room, and nudging the door closed with her foot. Before Patsy had a chance to comprehend what was going on, Delia had peeled the redhead’s damp jumper up over her ears and had moved away again.

Patsy felt the absence of her proximity immediately; far before she noticed that she was now standing in Delia Busby’s bedroom, torso covered by nothing but her thin cotton vest made transparent by moisture.

With a gasp, Patsy smacked her arms up to cover her chest, her skin erupting in goosebumps at the cooler air and the sudden intimacy of her environment. 

“Sorry,” Delia apologised again, rummaging through a draw with her back turned, “but you don’t want to be sitting around in wet clothing. Here,” she tossed a hoodie towards her but didn’t turn around. “I’m afraid I can’t do much about the trousers, I doubt you’d fit into anything I’ve got.”

Patsy caught the pullover by instinct but just stood rooted to the spot, her brain still caught up in her embarrassment, and hyper-aware of the scars which must now be on display across her shoulders and upper arms. Had Delia noticed them?

The brunette cast a glance over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “Go on then, get changed. You might want to take that vest off too.”

A heat crept up Patsy’s neck and she swallowed heavily. Delia chuckled, “Don’t worry, I won’t peek.” She looked forward again, away from Patsy. If she had noticed the marks on her skin, she had chosen not to comment.

Turning her back on the other woman, Patsy shot another glance in her direction to make sure that she’d be true to her word, and then whipped off the damp vest, hastily pulling on the hoodie. The arms ended half way down Patsy’s forearms and she had to keep tugging it down to ensure it covered her stomach, but Patsy could excuse that because it was soft with use and smelled like Delia. It is important to note that a Delia smell smelled like...well, Delia, mixed in with the generic washing powder supplied by Nonnatus House. Patsy liked it. She liked it a lot.

She twisted and observed the way that Delia’s loose hair flowed long and silky down her back. For a brief moment she allowed herself to wonder what it would feel like to run her hands through it. Clearing her throat, she said, “You can turn around now.”

Delia did so, producing her neatly folded, woollen jumper. “I can wash this for you if you’d like?”

Patsy was mortified. Was there really no end to the woman’s generosity? “No, no!” she objected.

Delia looked taken aback at the ferocity of her exclamation.

Patsy huffed, attempting to calm herself down, though her heart was still jack-rabbiting a mile a minute after this whole ordeal. “I am the one who came up here with the intention to apologise and ended up spilling the tea meant for you all down myself.” She gently accepted the jumper from Delia’s hands and placed it by the door with her vest, trying not to think about all the sour milk they were saturated with. “Thank you for the hoodie, but there is no chance that I will allow you to do my laundry. I was absolutely beastly to you earlier,” eyes darting every which way and hands wringing nervously together, Patsy gestured to the bed. “Please, could you sit down? I’d like to ask for a moment of your time to explain.”

Delia remained quiet, her gaze searching but not hostile, which was a good sign. She moved to perch on the end of the mattress while Patsy resumed her pacing, trying to gather her thoughts while being immensely aware of Delia’s bright eyes following her back and forth.

“I, um…I don’t know if you’ve ever had a patient die on you, but being a nurse, I assume you have.” Her eyes flicked up to their blue twins and saw the pained affirmation on Delia’s face. Patsy nodded in understanding. “Well, when that happens, there’s not usually much that you can do about it. Sometimes the body just gives up, and it’s not your fault. But sometimes, just very occasionally, you might be tired on a late shift and you catch yourself at the last second almost prescribing the wrong dose of medication, or that you wrote the wrong thing on their notes, and you think, ‘Bloody hell, I could have killed this person’. Have you ever had that?”

Delia swallowed and after a moment’s hesitation nodded cautiously, clearly confused as to where she was going with this. “Patsy-” she tried, but Patsy was on a role.

“And sometimes, people do die from medical errors, more than you’d like to think. More people than overdose on drugs! That kind of guilt can cripple a person, but at least it was an accident, you know? It was a mistake that happened while they were trying to help someone.”

“Patsy, wait-” Delia tried again before being cut off.

“Did you know that ‘Gift’ means poison in German?” Patsy felt herself getting worked up, her voice rising in pitch as it was prone to do when she was distressed. Something she hated. Unwanted tears pricked like hot iron rods behind her eyes. Her throat was tight and she kept swallowing, as if that would keep her secrets down; locked up in the little boxes she tried to shove them into, deep, deep down inside. Delia looked thoroughly bewildered and a little distressed herself, but Patsy had to get this out, just this one feeling that she wanted to convey. She had to give Delia some part of herself in order to make her see how much she regretted taking their burgeoning friendship for granted.

“Do you know what it’s like to kill, Delia, to know that you are poison? What it’s like to strip everything from someone until all that is left of them is the dirt that you will have to later wipe off your shoes, off your face, off your hands?”

Patsy refused to look in the Welsh woman’s direction, her gaze sightlessly bouncing around the room, never settling, trapped in the dark.

“And do you know what it’s like for killing to be an _instinct_? A _reaction_? I am a killer, Delia. My body is designed to deal out death without a conscious thought, and I have to live with myself knowing what I have done. Knowing that it can never be undone. I would rather be in pain every second of my life than relax my guard for one selfish moment and cause that pain to someone else.” At this, Patsy finally managed to look at her companion’s pale and stricken face. “I have to be stronger than that.” She insisted with an edge of mania to her tone. “I have to be strong.” And there went her traitorous voice, cracking and revealing the weakness which belied her words.

Delia stood from the bed and snagged Patsy’s wrist, stilling her frenzied movement. The redhead’s skin tingled with the warmth of her touch, and it calmed her slightly. She noticed that the brunette had tears in her own eyes. “Oh God,” Patsy said, wiping angrily at her face, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to come in here and upset you further.”

“Pats,” Delia huffed in exasperation, tugging at her wrist where she still held it in a loose grip. “Sit down will you.” Patsy obeyed, dropping down to sit stiffly next to Delia on the bed, making sure to leave a foot of space between them. The wet denim of her jeans chafed the skin of her thighs.

Delia kept a hold of her wrist.

“I don’t blame you for snapping at me earlier.” She said. Patsy felt a rush of injustice on behalf of the other woman and went to object, but Delia held up a hand to stop her. “I’m serious. You don’t have to explain yourself. You were right. I don’t know you all that well, and I don’t know what you’ve been through. But knowing what I do, I cannot sit here and believe for one second that you would ever take a human life willingly. Yes, you have this Gift; this immense responsibility, but just the fact that you are here, at Nonnatus, shows that you have chosen to use it in service of others. You can’t control what you do unconsciously as much as any medical professional can when they make an accidental error. If those guards back at The London had not fired _guns_ at you, they would not be dead. You are not to blame, okay?”

Delia’s thumb was rubbing comforting circles into the skin of Patsy’s arm, and she shuffled closer so that she could reach an arm around Patsy’s shoulders and rub her back. The redhead tensed at the unexpected touch, but soon found herself relaxing despite herself. She had not been touched like that for many, many years, and she struggled not to give into the temptation to lean into the smaller woman.

Patsy did endure pain every day. Her pain was her guilt with a maraschino cherry of grief, and no reassuring speeches could ever take it away. It sat sharp and stone-like in her belly; one rock for every life she had taken, some larger than others. Sometimes it made her feel so heavy she couldn’t even stand to get out of bed. But sometimes, like this moment right now, it felt a little lighter; a little like someone else was helping to shoulder the load.

Patsy hung her head and sniffled. A familiar twinge of self-loathing surged within her. God, she was so pathetic.

She had endured much worse than everything that had happened in the past few months, and yet here she was, falling apart.

Since she had returned to Nonnatus House, Patsy felt weak and disorientated. Doctor Turner had assured her that her blood works came back clean, but she almost wished they hadn’t, just so that she could have an excuse for the way she felt. The loss of her physical strength only added to the fatigue of her mental state. Her instinct was to train hard to recover what ability she had lost; work hard to make up for everything she had missed, and it was maddening to feel like her body was letting her down.

Some had given their vociferous opinion that Patsy was trying to integrate back into life at Nonnatus too quickly, but that was her way. Put on a brave face. Keep busy and carry on. Ignore it and it’ll go away. It didn’t work like that, though. Patsy knew this, despite everything. Shelagh had told her often enough.

The Sisters wouldn’t let her back in the clinic yet. She wasn’t sure if that was for her own good or the safety of the patients, but they made sure to keep her occupied. Cleaning mainly. Patsy was good at that, and it helped to clear her head; keep her grounded. Her hands always seemed a little less black with the smell of bleach on them.

The others were all treading on egg-shells around her. Sometimes, she’d be sat in a room while they were discussing something or other, and she’d find herself zoning out more often than usual. When her friends noticed, they would try to gently coax her back into the conversation without mentioning her behaviour. Even Trixie had not staged an intervention. She was grateful to them, in a way, for not cracking the façade.

Patsy had wanted to thank Phyllis, and Trixie, and Cynthia, and Winifred; each in turn for their commitment to breaking her out of The London. Each one of them had brushed away her gratitude with varying degrees of grace, and told her that the alternative wasn’t an option. Patsy had had to ensconce herself away and bite back tears every time. 

The realisation was dawning on her that she truly had a home here. A family.

It was when she was left alone with someone that they would brave asking after her health, telling her to take her time, asking whether she’d like to talk about anything. Of course she never did.

She almost slipped up with Delia that afternoon though, as they lay across the bed horizontally, watching the course of the sinking sun paint its way across the walls. Their heads hung off one side of the mattress and their feet dangled off the other; one pair touching the floor, the other kicking air. 

Viewing the room upside down made it impossible to talk about serious matters, and Patsy let Delia entertain her with childhood stories of adventure, hands flying in animation, casting shadows on the wall. Patsy just lay there and listened to the music of her voice, getting lost in her dimples and the brilliance of her easy smile. She asked questions and Delia obliged, never prying into Patsy’s own past, making sure to distract her from the black hole she had been spiralling into.

Patsy liked the way Delia’s mind worked. She could make grass sound interesting. 

To Patsy, Delia’s Gift was not in her genes; it was in the way she brought things to life around her, things like Patsy's own tired, tortured soul. 

If she had met Delia before the incident at The London, she wasn’t sure that she would have allowed herself to indulge in the presence of this soft, soft woman; to become comfortable and complacent. But she wasn’t strong enough to push her away right now. 

She wasn't strong enough, and...she didn’t want to.

It was just such a calming moment that Patsy almost felt safe letting her guards down. Almost. Safety was not a feeling that Patsy was accustomed to, and that was what unnerved her most of all about Delia Busby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is really just a follow-on from the last chapter to give Patsy a chance to demonstrate how much of an emotional mess she can be. A beautiful mess, but a mess all the same ;)
> 
> I promise that more plot-development is in store soon.
> 
> Hope everyone's living their best lives - stay safe and stay sane x


	9. Team Communication

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello beautiful people! *raises head sheepishly*
> 
> I'm sorry for disappearing off the face of the earth on you, it's just, I promised you plot, and then I realised 'Plot?? What plot?!'
> 
> You see, when I started this story, I had the vaguest of ideas where I wanted it to go. Normally I would have abandoned it by now, and I did consider, I will admit, deleting my account and cowering in shame in my corner of the world, but! I'm glad I jumped the gun and started posting, because now I have to finish what I started.
> 
> On the other hand, that does not mean I am any better at outlining a story than I was at the beginning, so this could turn out one of two ways: an absolute flop, or the weirdest read your eyes have ever met.
> 
> The following chapter is yet another procrastination really. Chapter ten is the one I've had to rewrite multiple times and I'm just mopping up now.
> 
> Thank you for all of your supportive comments, and to anyone who continues to give this work a chance, especially considering the definite lack of regular updates :) xxx

Delia was starting to learn that you should never, ever bet against Phyllis Crane. Under any circumstances.

If their girls’ bi-weekly round of poker did not give this valuable life lesson away, Delia’s current predicament certainly did.

Because, just as Phyllis had predicted, Delia did indeed get assigned to an ops-team by the end of that week. And this did indeed involve getting ‘stuck in’ to things. 

And since getting ‘stuck in’ apparently involved being shot in the leg, Delia vowed to become a very, very fast learner from that moment onwards. Stun bullets fucking hurt, even on their lowest shock setting.

“You’ll have to do better than that, Busby!” Sister Evangelina bellowed from the sidelines, observing proceedings as if they were playing a bloody football match and not clawing their way through the combat simulation currently in action.

Delia groaned from her position on the floor. With one hand she clutched at her leg, where a leaden numbness was making itself at home, rendering the limb useless. The other gripped a gun of her own; equally useless due to the fact that she had only been in the firing range twice during her time at Nonnatus.

Winded, Delia lay there feeling like a fish on dry land with her intestines on display to the vultures… wait, did fish have intestines?

Her delirious train of thought was interrupted as Lucille appeared at her side, gripping the Welsh woman by her underarms and dragging her bodily to cover, pride smeared in her wake along with her dragging weapon.

The training room had been transformed. The jumbled equipment from the far end had been pulled out to make a sort of obstacle course: a hell-scape of stacked blocks, whose bulked formation squeezed out narrow corridors and loomed over open spaces pitted with overturned gymnastics equipment. There may as well have been barbed wire.

“Suck it up, Busby!” Val hissed as she flung herself next to Lucille, backs jammed against the wooden block shielding them from opposing fire. “Just like us to get loaded with the newbie.” She muttered.

Delia gritted her teeth and tried to focus on staying calm, breathing deeply as the other woman raised her head above the parapet to assess their situation. A small, teensy, vindictive part of her – her left little toe maybe – hoped that Val might take a hit herself. It’s not like she asked to get put on this team.

Next to her, Lucille placed a consoling hand on her arm. “You’ll be okay,” she whispered, “First time’s always the worst, that’s why we practise. We’ve got your back.”

Delia mustered a weak grin in thanks as Val ducked back down, a bullet shooting through the space her head had occupied not a second earlier. Lucky bugger.

“We’ve gotta move. Now!” Val panted.

Her warning came a second too late, as an enormous hand came down and tore away the block they were hiding behind. Chummy’s gigantic face peered down at them from where she was curled against the ceiling, body ten times her normal size. “Sorry chums,” her voice boomed around the room, “All par for the course, I’m afraid.”

Val and Lucille scrambled to find cover, wedging themselves between another block and the wall. Delia propelled herself after them on her good leg, stumbling and hobbling like a drunken sailor in frantic lurches. Alas, her fingertips were just shy of brushing Lucille’s outstretched hand when she felt Chummy’s meaty fist close around her body, blocking out the light of day.

Her stomach swooped as she found herself hoisted into the air, caged in what she supposed was a delicate grip to her captor, but in reality felt like bars of fleshy iron.

She tried to wrestle her gun from where it was crushed against her chest. The barrel was pointed towards her feet, which were sticking out from Chummy’s closed fist. If she craned her head upwards she could see a circle of light where the woman’s thumb would be.

All sounds were muffled except for her own accelerated breathing and her heart beat thumping like a war drum in her ears. There was just enough give in Chummy’s grip to manoeuvre the gun barrel upwards so that she wouldn’t shoot herself if she pulled the trigger.

Her clothes were growing damp with a mixture of her own sweat and that of the moist skin wrapped around her, and the limited gusts of hot air she could draw into her lungs were doing nothing for her rising sense of claustrophobia.

Before she could make herself shoot her damn weapon, however, she was overcome with vertigo as Chummy reeled backwards, jerking the hand with Delia in it.

The Welsh woman squeezed her eyes tight and submitted herself to her fate as a mighty groan rattled her fleshy prison.

Her back was slammed to the ground, cushioned by Chummy’s great palm which sprung open and began to recede from beneath her as it returned to its normal size.

Delia rolled away, gasping as she attempted to return to her senses. She managed to pull herself flat against the closest wall, gun held out with shaking hands. She blinked, half believing her mind had been squished to mush as she took in the sight of a giant squid suckered to Chummy’s face in all its tentacled glory.

The human woman was squirming on the floor. She was clearly struggling to draw breath, and the squid flopped inelegantly to the side to free her from its now crushing weight.

Lucille and Val rushed forward with a yell, covering for the cephalopod which turned out to be Barbara. Delia watched in fascination as the squid’s smooth skin ruptured and gave way to dense fur, tentacles receding into sinuous arms and chunky fists, which Barbara, now a guerrilla, thumped either side of Chummy’s head in a warning to stay down.

The three of Delia’s team mates began to retreat, snagging her along the way and pulling her with them as they ran to the back of the room where they had made their base. Barbara swept her up as she stumbled on her numb leg, and Delia got to compare the merits of being manhandled by guerrilla versus giant.

Delia had never played capture the flag, but she was pretty sure it wasn’t meant to go anything like this.

When the four of them were ensconced in a square of wooden blocks that comprised their centre of operations, Barbara set the Welsh woman back down and shifted to her human form.

Delia couldn’t help the incredulous laugh that escaped her lips as she stared at the other woman. “That was mad!” she exclaimed.

Barbara just grinned bashfully.

“Right,” Val sighed, banging her forehead against the butt of her stun-rifle in exasperation. “That was a waste of time. We still don’t know where our target is, and now we’re a woman down.” She gestured flippantly at Delia, who had lowered herself to the ground, resting against a crate with her legs outstretched. 

Delia massaged the meat of her thigh and glared at her unresponsive foot, trying not to let Val’s frustration affect her.

“Give her a break, Val,” Lucille gently chided. “That attitude’s not going to help anyone. Trixie’s team is no closer to us either.”

“Well, what do you suggest we do now?” Val threw back petulantly.

“Stake out. Let them come to us.” Barbara proposed.

So that’s what they did. Val clambered up to the top of their block-fort and attempted to get a glimpse of their opposition. They could only really look out in one direction due to the position of their base in the room.

“What are they doing?” Lucille whisper shouted to her five minutes later.

“Same as us probably,” Val muttered back. “I can’t see any movement.”

Feeling began to return to Delia’s leg as the minutes ticked by, and she flexed it experimentally, first at the toes, then the ankle, the knee. Pins and needles danced up and down her nerves, but when she felt able, she even went as far as doing some squat jumps to the amusement of the others.

“What?” She asked as they stared at her.

“Nothing,” Lucille chuckled, “You’re keen, is all.”

“Keen not to get shot again,” she replied.

“I’m not seeing any progress, ladies!” Evangelina’s warning rumbled around the room. “We’ll stay here until midnight if we have to!”

Val groaned. “Not if I have a say in it! I haven’t eaten since five am!”

Lucille rolled her eyes. “How are we going to do this?” she asked them.

Delia drew her resolve together and managed to climb up next to Val, pressing herself low against the top of one of the blocks. She surveyed the room.

Suddenly a rope was thrown over a pull-up bar across the way, and a plastic clothing manikin came into view, winched up by its chest. That was their target; their ‘flag if you will; the hostage they had to rescue. And it was dangling in mid-air.

“Aw, shit.” Val growled in her strong cockney accent.

“What are they doing?” Barbara called agitatedly from below.

“Setting a trap,” Val hissed back, “Cocky arseholes.”

“They’ve hoisted up their manikin by a rope. They’re staying out of sight though.” Delia clarified. She knew that besides Chummy, Cynthia and Trixie were down there somewhere like sharks in the water.

She looked at the configuration of obstacles strewn between their two bases. Zoning herself out of the tense situation, she imagined she was out in the city, practicing Parkour. She plotted a course in her head. She could make it there pretty easily, she reckoned, so long as her leg held out and she didn’t get gunned down again.

“Who do you think they’ll send to get our hostage?” she whispered to Val.

The other woman shrugged, squinting into the distance. “Maybe Trixie. She’s quicker, and less useful for defence.”

Delia nodded, a plan forming in her head. She dropped back down to ground level where Lucille and Barbara were in a heated discussion.

“Do you think Val can burn the rope from here?” Barbara was asking.

Lucille shook her head. “No. It’s too far. But if she can get closer, could you transform into something with wings and catch the dummy as it drops?”

Barbara grimaced in thought. “I think Cynthia would electrocute me before I got close.”

“Guys,” Delia interrupted. “I can get the manikin, I just need you to make a distraction.”

Lucille’s eyebrows rose in surprise, and Barbara did a bad job of hiding her doubt. They probably hadn’t even factored her into the equation.

“Look,” Delia ploughed on, “I may not be adept with my Gift, but we can use that to our advantage. They won’t expect anything from me, but I can get over there if you take their attention away from the left side of the room.”

The others still looked sceptical. It’s not like Delia had a reputation for her plans going well, after all. “How will you cut the rope and bring the dummy back?” Lucille asked.

“Yeah, there’ll be no teleporters to bail you out this time.” Val shot down from where she was listening in.

Delia ignored her, aware of time ticking away. “Freeze the rope.” She said. “Can you freeze it enough so that it’ll shatter?”

Lucille thought for a moment before nodding. “And what about our defence?”

“I’ll stay.” Barbara offered. “If they send Trixie, I can take her on.” The brunette cracked her knuckles and tried to glower, not that the woman was actually capable of glowering – it was more of a pout really.

“Alright, let’s go!” Val urged. “Evangelina’ll skin us alive if we leave it any longer. Old bat’s probably watching us through the walls.”

“Good job she doesn’t have super hearing then, isn’t it, Val?” Lucille teased.

Barbara moved over to the wooden gymnastics horse, in the hollow womb of which they had stuffed their hostage dummy. She shifted to become a fly, too small for any approaching adversary to spot.

Delia left Lucille and Val to make their own way across the room. As they began to advance, she secured her rifle over her back and crept out of cover. She darted to the closest block, using it to vault up to the next one. It was not as clean as it could have been, her bad leg scraping the top of the obstacle, but the step-like configuration of the blocks meant that she was still hidden from sight.

Across the room she became aware of shouting and the thudding of stun-bullets hitting wood.

She kept moving forward until she had to take a running leap, springing off the concrete wall of the room and using the leverage to twist and grab onto the edge of another block further on. The strap of her rifle slipped and the clunky weapon swung round to bash her nose.

“ _Iesu Mawr_!” She hissed, eyes watering and fingers slipping on the wood. This was ridiculous. What was she even doing here? “I must be a bloody masochist.” She grumbled, the yells of her team-mates ringing like a concerto in her ears; the only accompaniment to her real-life action sequence.

With a mighty heave she hefted herself onto the top of the block and made her way as stealthily as possible to where the manikin hung.

As she got closer, she projected the illusion of multiple shadows, so that if anyone happened to see one, it would not give away her position.

All too soon she came upon her target from above. It swung there limply, buffeted by all the laboured breaths in the room. The position of the bar the dummy was hanging from meant that Delia could grasp it if she jumped down onto it from above. It was a move she had attempted only a handful of times before, in a more controlled environment, and had yet to perfect. Not to mention that she would be incredibly exposed if seen.

The rope around the manikin was not frozen, or singed for that matter, and Delia craned her head from her concealed position to try and locate her team mates. She spotted Cynthia lurking close by, absorbed in some kind of conflict, sparks shooting from her fingertips.

Feeling extraordinarily guilty, especially because Cynthia had never been anything but kind to her, Delia unstrapped her gun and took aim at the unsuspecting woman. Perhaps that was being a bit optimistic given her shooting abilities: she pointed her gun in the general direction of the unsuspecting woman.

Delia decided that the shot was worth it, even if it gave her presence away. With Cynthia down, it would mean one less opponent. But, crikey, how the hell was anybody supposed to hit anything from this distance?

The screech of some massive-sounding bird distracted her, and she swung her head round to see Barbara as an eagle, tangled in the air with Trixie. The beat of their wings seemed to match the beat of their vicious clawing. It was brutal.

Delia blew out an astonished breath before focusing back on the task at hand. She really needed to get used to these bizarre sights. She also really needed Val or Lucille to get sight of that rope.

But when she swung her head round again, Cynthia was gone.

Delia cursed under her breath, moving, trying to get eyes on her from her vantage point.

There was a shout, and Val came running into the open space below, firing backwards. Chummy’s great form ambled behind her, about twice her usual size. She was holding a wooden panel in front of her like a shield, and Val had to dive to the ground to avoid her own bullet from ricocheting back at her.

Delia started to climb cautiously around to the pull-up bar, ready to get the dummy should Val singe the rope.

Chummy stopped advancing abruptly, looking down at her ankles, where a casing of ice had impeded her movement.

Lucille ran onto the scene. “The rope!” she yelled at Val as she continued to cocoon Chummy’s legs. Fractures appeared in the ice where the larger woman was struggling to break free, growing in size, her thighs bulging around the top of the ice manacle.

Delia cast a final glance around before emerging onto the ledge of the block she’d have to jump from. Before she could get there, however, her foot was snagged, causing her to fall forward heavily, her gun flung from her grasp to the ground below.

Someone crawled up her body, laying their weight on top of her.

“Gotcha,” came the puff of Cynthia’s breath against her ear.

And then Delia knew how light bulbs felt when the switch was flicked. Her body started convulsing, pulsing with the electrical current being pumped through her. A high pitched gurgling sound reached her ears and it took a moment to realise that she was the one making it. She’d have been embarrassed if she wasn’t too busy being electrocuted.

It was with an immense power of will and all her recent knowledge of grappling technique, that Delia managed to flip them over, rolling toward the edge of the block and the drop below.

She felt Cynthia disconnect as they fell, and managed to roll as she hit the ground, dissipating the impact. Then she was on her feet, spots dancing before her eyes, feeling decidedly woozy.

What happened next was a bit of a blur to be honest. Delia was aware of Val running towards Cynthia’s prone form on the ground. The rope was on fire, and Delia could see drops of molten plastic dribbling down the side of their manikin’s face. She jumped for the legs of it and pulled. The rope snapped, and Delia took off running with their prize.

~*~

When all was said and done, neither of their manikins were in particularly good condition, the training room was a wreck, Cynthia had a sprained wrist, Trixie and Barbara were covered in scratches, and Evangelina was _not_ impressed.

“Useless, the bloody lot of you!” She raged as they sat slumped against one another on the benches amidst the carnage. Delia had never known a nun to swear, but then again, she’d never known many nuns. 

“I said I wanted it clean and efficient, and you gave me slapdash and sloppy! Nurse Franklin,” Trixie shrunk where she sat, trying to melt into Chummy next to her, “I expected better from a senior agent. Your plan was so predictable I didn’t even need x-ray vision to see the puny brain it came from, because clearly it doesn’t exist! And as for you lot,” she whipped her finger of death to a sniggering Val, “What in the name of all that is holy is your comprehension of the term ‘offence’? Throwing yourself as meat sacks to be torn apart by the enemy is madness, not method! Busby did a damn sight better than the rest of you, and she’s been with us not three weeks!”

Delia felt a flush of pride – that might not have been much of a compliment, but it was a compliment all the same.

Evangelina held up the dummy kept hostage by Delia’s team and shook it in front of their faces. “Dead.” She raved, pointing to the gashes in its rag-doll torso, stuffing exploding outwards in a bogus imitation of guts. She tossed it to the side and Delia watched it sail through the air and slump to the ground in an undignified heap. 

Then their plastic manikin was produced, its head half melted in. “Dead.” Evangelina roared with increased fury, causing them all to wince with the sound the thing produced when it landed somewhere in the depths of the room.

Truth be told, Delia was too exhausted to care about what was said next. They were forced to clean the room, separating out equipment that needed to be fixed or was unsalvageable. Then with a bit more verbal knuckle-rapping they were sent off to a late lunch with their tails between their legs.

When they emerged from the basement, Delia was fully expecting it to be dark outside, but lo-and-behold, the sun was still shining upon their battered forms, and the birds still chirped at their misery.

“God, I thought she’d never let us out!” Val groaned, stretching her neck and rubbing at a sore spot there.

“That was a _morning_ training session?” Delia questioned, incredulously. 

To her discontentment, Chummy nodded. “I’m afraid so, old thing. That’s why we start at six.”

Delia groaned, following the others as they filed into the kitchen. Trixie and Cynthia were there ahead of them, pulling out sandwich ingredients onto the table.

“Better get used to it.” Trixie commented blithely, “We haven’t had one like that for a while. The whole thing with Patsy put rather a stopper in ops-training. Of course, Winifred got off lightly with clinic duty today, and Phyllis is as seasoned as they come.” The blonde’s scornful tone on the name ‘Winifred’ clearly showed what she thought of her absence.

Lucille hummed from where she was washing salad in the sink. “They’re usually harder than that, though. We’re a little rusty. They’ll have us out in the woods soon with the serious bullets.”

“The woods?” Delia gulped. And what exactly constituted _serious_ bullets, she wondered, rubbing at where she’d been struck in the leg.

“Honestly, Delia, did no-one explain to you all the requirements of the job before you took it?” Trixie asked, pausing in the doorway to the dining room with her heaped plate of rabbit food.

“Oh sush,” Cynthia waved off the snide comment. “They won’t put you through that until they think you’re ready. Trixie’s just bitter at getting called out by Evangelina.” The blonde stuck her tongue out and disappeared round the corner, biting into a celery stick. “You did really well today.” Cynthia praised the Welsh woman, slapping her on the back and following after her stroppy friend.

Delia gaped in surprise, feeling chuffed. Ha! She wasn’t a complete amateur after all.

She made herself the biggest sandwich she had ever put in her mouth, and hobbled stiffly to a seat at the dining table, aching muscles protesting all the way.

~*~

Patsy found it all hilarious, of course, though Delia knew she had to be feeling a bit left out. She came in to find them all ravenously stuffing their faces, and sat to join in with the easy banter being thrown around. Delia knew that she had just spent her first shift at the clinic since her return, and was dying to get her alone to ask how it had gone.

There was this feeling that Delia had. She was 80 percent sure that she wasn’t making it up…okay, change that to 69.9 percent. Maybe with an extra decimal point…in any case, Delia did not feel it too far-fetched to say that something was growing between her and Patsy. Since that afternoon when Patsy sought her out to apologise, there was more tension in that connection they seemed to have. Like some invisible entity had ratcheted it up a notch.

Delia was beginning to notice that Patsy was different around her than she was with others; at least when they were alone together. She spoke more freely, smiled more often, and generally seemed more relaxed. Maybe that was because Delia tried her best not to ask too many questions, and because of this, when she did ask something, she could see Patsy struggling to be more honest, more forthcoming, than she usually would.

Delia’s internal dilemma was not helped by the one-on-one sparring sessions that involved much physical contact and many compromising situations, not to mention the heavy breathing and delightfully flushed cheeks.

Delia blushed just thinking about it.

But for all of the something that was growing between them, Delia was scarcely closer to reading the other woman. Her mood could change on a dime. She was not a tactile person, and had one hell of an ability to make her face as expressionless as possible.

Still, Delia relished the challenge to crack the miniscule behavioural cues that would unlock her understanding of Patsy.

She was staring across the table at the object of her fascination when Barbara broke her day dreaming by slamming a thick textbook on the table in front of her face. Delia jumped in surprise and looked blankly at the offending item. 

“Time you started learning some of this fieldwork theory.” Barbara announced, pulling up a chair uninvited. 

Speaking of ‘somethings’, Delia had deduced that there was definitely _something_ going on between Cynthia and Barbara over Trixie: some kind of subtle and weirdly passive-aggressive competitiveness over who could hold her attention more. And all the while, Trixie seemed completely oblivious, mooning over some fella called Tom (opinions were divided on Tom – some called him a hunk, others a wet rag - but Delia had yet to meet and make judgement upon the guy).

To Delia’s horror, Barbara began rifling through the abundance of pages enthusiastically, flipping to a section that looked far too intellectual for Delia’s exhausted mind. “If there’s anything that I’ve learned from this training session, it’s that we need to improve our team communication.”

Delia could have wept. She cast a last longing glance across the table before submitting herself to her fate. She found Patsy looking back at her sympathetically.

As much fun as studying military hand signals was, Delia found Patience Mount infinitely more fascinating.


	10. The Briefing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Get ready for A LOT of talking, and an unsubtle info dump - questions will be answered, more will be asked. Hope it doesn't get too confusing, feel free to ask if it's not clear!
> 
> Trigger warning for minor mentions of abduction and cancer.

The briefing room was small, crammed with a semi-circle of those chairs that have the fold up desks never big enough to actually accommodate note-taking. A projector hung from the ceiling that looked one inch from death. Delia felt like she was back in school. It even smelled like the old matt-flooring that always seemed to have chewing gum trodden into it, as if it was manufactured that way. Funding was apparently tight these days. The splinters in her fingers spent from hours duct-taping training blocks back together were testament enough to that.

As she slouched in her hard-backed seat, she toed at a patch of hardened gum, wondering how it had got there even in an undercover basement facility run by nuns.

The door at the back of the room opened with force and Sister Julienne swept in, Evangelina and Monica Joan billowing purposefully behind her like extensions to her robe.

A well-trained hush fell over the room. Delia straightened herself in her chair.

A meeting had been called. There was an operation afoot.

Delia knew the whole team was hoping that this briefing would give them more insight into why The London abducted Patsy. Knowledge about the entire incident and the intentions of the Institute was fragmented and divided between the group. Nobody had any idea of what their neighbours knew or did not know.

Glancing to the far end of the room, Delia logged where Patsy was sitting with perfect posture, attention focused forward. She realised that they never did have that talk about what The London wanted with the redhead. 

So far, Delia thought she had a better grasp on this whole team communication thing than the Nonnatuns themselves. But she suspected that Julienne had her own reasons for keeping the bigger picture close to her chest.

The woman in question stood at the front of the room while Cynthia hurried to set up the projector system from a small laptop.

Like a seasoned head teacher scrutinising their assembly; like a general disciplining their ranks; like a tigress teaching her cubs to hunt, Sister Julienne dominated the floor, prowling back and forth.

“Thank you all for coming,” she began, her voice fortified with an authority that sounded too big for the mundane room. “I assume you’re aware of why you’re here -”

The projector suddenly whirred clumsily to life, blasting light into the Sister’s unshielded eyes. She squinted mightily and raised a hand against the onslaught as the old contraption made a pathetic whining sound, grating on everyone’s nerves in the sudden silence. Cynthia’s desktop background popped up on the wall. The cat meme did nothing to assuage Julienne’s restrained irritation. 

Cynthia scrambled to bring up the correct slide, her cheeks crimson.

“As I was saying,” the Sister continued, clearing her throat, “It is about time we all touched base regarding our present objectives. In the past month you may have noticed the extended absences of Sister Evangelina, and Nurses Sutton and Fortescue-Cholmeley-Browne. They have been gathering intel for our ongoing intelligence operation concerning the Institutes. This operation should not be news to you.”

Eyes darted to the named women, people fidgeted, noses were scratched.

It was all news to Delia, who awkwardly bent her elbow on the fold-out desk, trying to keep her paper on the surface as she scribbled notes furiously.

“Their surveillance has flagged up several areas for concern. These areas in particular have undergone a marked increase in Institutional activity.”

She nodded at Cynthia, who took them through a series of charts, graphs, and maps that the trio had collated.

“Even before Dr. Mount was taken into custody by The London, the swell in activity had not gone unnoticed. What has changed is that we now have evidence not all of this activity is above-board. And that evidence is Dr. Mount.”

Delia glanced in Patsy’s direction once more. She was wearing her stoically passive face which gave nothing away; still as a placid lake…or an opossum playing dead.

“Now, I imagine that you are all curious about the reasons behind Dr. Mount’s disappearance, and the truth is that our knowledge on this matter is patchy at best. As far as we can tell, the abduction was not an attack on Nonnatus House, but Dr. Mount directly. We know that the Institutes are aware of an undercover team of Gifted funded by the government, but what we can no longer be sure of is whether they have traced this back to Nonnatus House. I should not have to stress how vital it is that we continue to operate with the utmost caution. No short cuts should be taken in covering our tracks. Nurse Busby,”

Delia snapped to attention, pen hovering over her page and the drying bullet point reading ‘no short cuts’.

“I’m afraid this means that you are still unable to communicate with anyone outside of Poplar.”

Delia nodded, accepting the fact. Her parents must have been beginning to worry about her, especially if the Institutes had contacted them with news of her desertion. Worried might be an understatement: hopping mad might be more accurate. 

Her Mam would just have to suffer in red-faced indignation for a while longer. In fact, the longer that she could delay the inevitable conversation, the better. She would get her ear bitten off for sure. Maybe even half her face.

Julienne let out a small sigh, bowing her head for a moment. “I think what we would all benefit from, Dr. Mount, if I can ask this of you, is a first person account of what happened that day.”

Patsy was clearly taken off guard. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but closed it quickly, giving a nod of assent. With a deep breath, she turned to face the semi-circle of her peers more fully.

“Just over three months ago now,” Patsy began, “I received an email. It was a plea for medical attention by someone claiming to be the mother of a sick child. The child had been examined by a doctor in The London, and the illness was diagnosed as a cellular mutation. A malignant tumour.” 

The redhead’s roaming gaze snagged on Delia’s, and Delia made sure to give a reassuring smile. “The London had deemed the cancer incurable, and refused a treatment plan.”

There was a horrified gasp to Delia’s left which sounded like it came from Chummy.

“As you know,” Patsy carried on, “Gifted patients can only be registered to one clinic at a time, and the hope of transfer is very limited. There was no way that this child was going to receive treatment from anywhere else. The family refused to give up, and were exploring other options. They had somehow heard about my work and had managed to get my details from what I assumed was an underground contact. It was fairly clear that I would have to travel to them if I was to give any treatment, and that any successful treatment would involve the use of my Gift, which is illegal.”

Patsy fidgeted, her gaze settled on the far wall. “Naturally, I went to the Sisters, as we do before any assignment, and it was agreed that Nurse Franklin would come with me and we’d check it out. If the request seemed genuine, I would go ahead with the treatment.”

Her gaze cut to Trixie, who was staring at her clasped hands, uncharacteristically subdued. “I know that Nurse Franklin will have reported what happened then. We arrived at the address we’d been given; a tenement building of about eight storeys. Difficult to escape from if cornered, which of course we were, because it turned out to be a trap.” Patsy gave a sardonic chuckle.

Sister Evangelina huffed in disapproval, and Patsy seemed to find her professional demeanour again. She sighed.

“A perimeter of the building didn’t throw up anything suspicious, and we agreed that Trixie would stay outside as a look-out. She would be tuned into my emotional state, and I‘d phone her just before I performed the operation so that she could listen in. 

"I climbed to the seventh floor, knocked on the door, and was invited in by a man and a woman who introduced themselves as the parents. There was still nothing to arouse suspicion. There were family photographs on the walls, children’s toys, and mail on the sideboard, but I kept myself alert nevertheless. I met the young chap and began an examination. He was so small, and the mutation…the mutation was like nothing I’d ever encountered before. It was a miracle the poor kid was still alive. It can’t have been natural.” Patsy turned introspective and Delia thought she’d elaborate, but she continued with her account instead. 

“I suppose, in hindsight, it was all a test, to see if I was the Patience Mount they were looking for. The poor lad was just bait. Another pawn in their sick game. He can’t have survived the ordeal.” She swallowed painfully, shoulders tense. Something in Delia’s chest ached.

“They waited until I started to use my Gift and my attention was fully absorbed as I operated on the mutation. I had called Trixie, like I said I would, but there was not enough time for her to respond. We didn’t expect a kidnapping. If anything, we were more prepared for the local police to turn up. Whoever those people were that acted as the parents, they must have hit me with some pretty hefty sedatives because I don’t remember anything after that.” 

She let out a disparaging huff. “I wouldn’t even know I’d been inside the Institute. I wasn’t awake for any of it.”

There was a momentary silence as everyone absorbed what Patsy had just said.

“I’m so sorry, Patsy,” a small voice split the air. Delia glanced at Trixie. She was still looking at her clenched fists, but it was clear she was trying to hold back tears. The blonde looked up at her friend, eyes glassy. “I should have come in with you.”

Patsy’s forehead creased in concern. “Trix, it’s not your fault.”

“It is!” The blonde refuted, shaking her head, “I could hear a commotion over the phone, I was going to come in, but then the next thing I know, a great big van turns up with a load of fully armed Londoners, and your body’s being carted out of the building, and I just hid!” Tears began to slip down Trixie’s cheeks and she sniffed. “I just hid like a bloody coward.”

Barbara put her hand on Trixie’s shoulder. Cynthia looked like her heart was trying to crawl out of her throat and roll wetly across the room. Trixie looked down again in shame.

As for Patsy, she seemed at a loss as to what she should do in this situation, with her best friend breaking down a few chairs away, and their superiors blinking haughtily at them.

“It’s not your fault, Trixie.” Patsy repeated. “You followed protocol. There was nothing you could have done, and I’d blame you more if you’d have tried to take on a pack of armed guards and got yourself captured as well.”

Trixie managed a watery smile at that, and something like understanding seemed to pass between the pair before Sister Julienne cleared her throat, standing uncomfortably at the front of the room.

“Thank you, Patsy, I think we’ve managed to clear a few things up.” Julienne smiled at the redhead, who maintained her stoic composure, acknowledging the attention with a tip of her head. Delia noticed her casting surreptitious glances in Trixie’s sniffling direction for a while afterwards.

Julienne turned back to the rest of the room. “It is clear that The London did not want Dr. Mount for interrogational purposes, and the good news is that nothing was done to Patsy within the Institute that has impaired her full recovery. In fact, the best lead that we have on what happened within the walls of that Institute is Nurse Busby. Nurse Busby, would you like to give a summary of what you told me when you first arrived?”

Delia swallowed as all eyes now fell on her. She was not prepared for this, and was still trying to shake off the emotional intensity that had suffused the room not a moment before.

“Umm…sure.” 

Okay, so not the best start. Buck up, Busby.

Slowly she put down her pen and sat up straight. “Nurse Anderson asked me when I first arrived, what it is like working at an Institute. One of the things that I missed out was that you learn very quickly not to ask questions.” She swallowed and shifted, rubbing her palms together in nervous habit.

“I was about two months into my placement at The London when I noticed a new patient on the ‘high security risk’ ward. As far as the notes were concerned, she was a bit of a Jane Doe. They only mentioned her name and her ability.” 

Delia directed her attention to Patsy. “That was you, Dr. Mount. There were no notes explaining why you were considered high risk, and this was the first thing that caught my attention. Usually on that particular ward, the patients come with a warning, despite being comatose. There is more supervision, and staff are advised on the best way to handle each individual, especially if they should wake up. From my perspective, the notes were incomplete, so I asked the ward matron about them. It was a matter of security more than anything. I thought, ‘If this patient is here, she must be dangerous’. Well, that didn’t go down well with the ward matron. She chastised me for being insubordinate and told me that it was not my place to question my superiors. If the notes weren’t as comprehensive as usual, I could be bally well sure there was a reason for it.”

Delia stopped for a moment, thinking of how to continue. She tapped the end of her pen so that it turned in circles where it rested on her notebook. An extra hard tap caused it to fall to the floor. Chummy, sat next to her, picked it up.

“Thank you. Anyway,” Delia tried again, jiggling her foot, “I carried on with my job, monitoring vitals, administering drugs to keep the patients healthy and _un_ conscious. After a week or so, I noticed a doctor I didn’t recognise. He would come in every so often when I was on shift, and would only ever examine Dr. Mount. Usually he would take some kind of sample: a cheek swab, or a blood sample. He would open her eyes and check for pupil dilation. I found it odd. Especially since, not long after that, the nurses were ordered not to tend to that patient at all.”

Delia felt uncomfortable talking about the woman she had come to care for in such a way. It felt wrong to revert Patsy back to just another face in a hospital bed. But truthfully, she had never _just_ been anything at all. There had always been something about Patience Mount. 

She licked her dry lips. “One day I came onto the ward and there was a…it was some kind of contraption around Dr. Mount’s head. It was almost like a virtual reality helmet, and the placement of the wires did seem to suggest some kind of neural monitor. I don’t know what its function was. It had been made clear enough that unnecessary questions weren’t tolerated, and since Patsy wasn’t my patient…all I could do was keep my ear to the ground. I was curious. ‘Who was this patient? Why was she getting special treatment?’ - I couldn’t let it go. 

“So I found the opportunity to get a closer look at this device on her head. The problem was that I couldn’t make head or tail of it without removing the thing, and that could have been dangerous, but I did notice that the wires did not lead to any monitor in the room. They were transmitting data to an external source. I also noticed that sometimes Dr. Mount would make the slightest twitch of her head, or her hand; maybe her knee. Like she was dreaming. Comatose patients aren’t supposed to do that, and I worried she was waking up. 

“The next day, the strange doctor approached me. He was not happy. Apparently I had been seen approaching his patient, and he wanted to know why.” Delia rolled her eyes, thinking about her inability for stealth, “I told him that the patient had been stirring, and relayed my concerns about her regaining consciousness. Well, he perked right up at that. He told me not to worry, she wouldn’t wake up, and he went immediately to check Dr. Mount over. His name tag read ‘Dr. Godfrey’. 

“So, I asked around about this Dr. Godfrey. Not in an obvious way. I’d just comment that I’d never seen him on the ward before, or throw in something about how he’d knocked my shoulder in passing, or he’d dropped his pen and the like. Most of my colleagues had no idea who this guy was, but Angela, who worked reception, told me that he was a scientist, and that he worked on the twenty-eighth floor.” 

Delia paused, taking in the room. Everyone was paying careful attention. No one seemed to be aware of the significance of Floor 28. Clearly they hadn’t had enough intel on the inner workings of The London.

“The Twenty-Eighth Floor,” Delia elaborated, “is a black floor. It’s a no-go zone for any employee wanting to keep their job, and maybe their freedom as well. There’s a lot of whispered speculation about what goes on there: alien dissections, nuclear physics…gene experimentation. What did a scientist from the Twenty-Eighth Floor want with a medical patient in the high security risk ward?”

Delia swallowed before she looked directly at Patsy, feeling remorseful that they hadn’t had this conversation in private beforehand. “Experimentation was the only answer I could think of.” She looked away from the redhead’s unblinking blue eyes. “To be frank, nobody cares what happens to patients on the high security risk ward. Generally the ward is for convicted, Gifted criminals, who are either ill or too dangerous to contain while conscious. You know the law states that Gifted convicts become property of the state. They forfeit their rights by breaking the law. After what you just told us, Patsy, I’m sure the Institute felt it within their jurisdiction to hold you without even a trial.”

The only sign that Patsy was feeling anything at all was the way her fingers were picking at each other in her lap.

Sister Julienne had a pinched look on her face as she absorbed what Delia was saying. “Delia, what was it that prompted you to break Dr. Mount out?”

“They were going to move her. They were going to make her disappear. I’d seen it before. It was always assumed that patients from that ward were transferred to an asylum of some kind, but I don’t think that’s true. I don’t have any concrete evidence, but there was this one occasion when I needed to visit the morgue. When I got down there, the mortuary assistant was in the process of zipping a body into a body bag. It was Terry Hains, a high security risk patient that I’d been caring for. He had supposedly been transported to a more secure location a week previously, but there he was in all his lifeless glory. The assistant was furious that I hadn’t announced my presence before entering. He was obviously very scared that somebody would find out he’d blundered and let me see something I shouldn’t have. We both pretended that it had never happened. Pretty convenient that they have an incinerator on site, huh? Handy body disposal.”

Delia paused to take a breath, well aware that she was straying into the territory of supposition. “Anyway, the ward matron receives a document two days in advance of a transfer. Usually she shares it with her nursing team, but in Patsy’s case, I just happened to be filling out some paperwork at the centre desk when the document was delivered. I knew it concerned Patsy because her patient number was on the manila envelope. I was confused by the fact it was delivered as a hard copy. Usually documents like that are sent via the system. Now I think it was because a hardcopy is easier to dispose of without a trace. No-one but the matron was meant to see it. But boy did I _want _to see it.”__

__“What did you do?” Lucille blurted out, captivated. She leant on Val, trying to get closer to the story despite their seating arrangements. Val didn’t push her off._ _

__Delia released a light chuckle and leant into her story-telling. “Well, I actually used my Gift. At the time, it was the most daring thing I’d ever done. I projected a desperate desire for the toilet into the matron’s mind.” Delia grinned, remembering the scene clearly. “The kind of desperation that has you sprinting for the loo before an eruption occurs which causes the next great extinction event. It was quite a sight.”_ _

__“Thank you, Nurse Busby, I think we get the picture.” Sister Evangelina chided lightly._ _

__Delia tried to force her face into a contrite expression._ _

__Evangelina’s face didn’t budge a muscle from its perpetual frown._ _

__A for effort, anyway. “Sorry, Sister.” She apologised._ _

__More sombre now, Delia continued. “Um, yes, so while she was…distracted, I peeked a look in the open envelope. Patsy was being transferred. Except, she was being transferred to the Twenty-Eighth Floor.”_ _

__A pause for dramatic effect._ _

__Effect achieved, she finished off. “Long story short, I thought I’d move Patsy first. I could take her to this Gifted refugee centre I know, and figure out who she was, and where to go from there. Maybe she’d even give me answers to what the Institute wanted with her.” She cast Patsy a wry glance. “That didn’t exactly work out though, did it?” The redhead’s lips curled up slightly at the corners and Delia rejoiced to have been the cause._ _

__With that, the Welsh woman sagged back in her seat, waiting for everyone else to catch up._ _

__After a beat: “They were going to _dissect_ Patsy?!”_ _

__Val sounded outraged._ _

__Sister Julienne promptly intervened and breezed over that question. “We do not know exactly what the Institute wanted with Dr. Mount, nor why they went to such lengths to obtain her in particular. But I can assure you that we will do our utmost to find out. If their intention is similar to what Nurse Busby is insinuating – human experimentation- then the situation is very worrying indeed. Which leads me to the purpose of this meeting.”_ _

__Julienne nodded to Cynthia, who clicked onto the next slide._ _

__‘OPERATION MIDWIFE’ popped up across the screen in bold, plain lettering._ _

__“From the surveillance carried out by Sister Evangelina’s team, there is one area for concern more pressing than others. To the North of here, there is a facility that has been receiving shipments of IVF fertilised embryos on ice.”_ _

__The location appeared on the screen and captured everyone’s attention. It was a hazy satellite image of a power station with one great cylindrical chimney._ _

__“As you can see,” Julienne moved closer to the screen before turning sharply on her heel. “This is not the type of location that you would expect to require highly specialised scientific material, especially biological matter. No, this coal power station was phased out several years ago, at which time it was bought by The London through a subsidiary organisation. So far, our surveillance team has been able to examine the cargo brought in by supply trucks, but we have not yet been able to infiltrate the facility to discover why the Institute requires an off-site secret laboratory. And more worrying still, why the Institute requires thousands of human embryos.”_ _

__Muted muttering rippled throughout the room. The Gifted community had long feared scientific advancement and the growing interest in gene experimentation. If the Gifted gene could be isolated and spliced, there were endless possibilities for mayhem, from genocide to eugenics._ _

__It was something that had been tried in anti-Gifted regimes around the world for the past century. So far, thankfully, no nation had managed to develop a way of suppressing the Gifted gene or splicing it successfully into non-Gifted DNA, but the nation that did so would have significant power over the others._ _

__“Now, I don’t want anybody jumping to conclusions,” Sister Julienne tried to quell the disquiet, “But it is imperative that we carry out further reconnaissance. To that end, I have selected a team to go into the field.”_ _

__That shut everybody up. The whole room was held in a state of suspended anticipation._ _

__“The team will be Nurses Miller, Gilbert , Dyer, Anderson… and Busby.”_ _

__Delia thought that maybe she’d misheard. “Me?” she choked in disbelief._ _

__Sister Julienne’s gaze pierced into her own intently. “Yes, Nurse Busby, you are ready. Unless you don’t feel up to the task?”_ _

__“It’s not that,” Delia felt compelled to say, her heart racing in something that she was beginning to realise was not just fear. There was excitement there too. “But, surely there are people more experienced? It sounds like an important mission.”_ _

__Julienne just looked at her for a moment more, assessing her. “It is settled then, this will be Nurse Busby’s first mission.”_ _

__And that was that, Delia supposed. She sat back in her seat, shocked, her mind scrabbling to hold onto the information still spouting from Julienne’s mouth as her ears rang and her fingers buzzed numbly._ _

__She was going into the field. She might be shot at again. For real. She was going to hold responsibility in her hand, and trust at her back, and courage in her heart._ _

__Oh my._ _

__

__~*~_ _

__

__Doctor Patrick Turner leant back in his creaky office chair and breathed a tired sigh. Removing his reading glasses, he tossed them on the desk to rest atop the case file he’d just closed._ _

__There was a tension in his brow, and he rubbed at it mindlessly._ _

__It seemed to weigh there more often than not these days._ _

__Patrick liked to think that he was a respectable man. He liked to think that he went the extra mile for his patients; that he put their needs before his own._ _

__He liked to think these things, but sometimes, when he was alone like this, it was hard to truly believe them._ _

__A soft knock gave little warning before the door opened, and in slipped Shelagh._ _

__The sight of her eased something in Patrick’s chest._ _

__He smiled, and reached out a hand, beckoning her closer._ _

__She stepped forward in that mild-mannered way she had, slipping her palm into his, and swinging their arms between them._ _

__“Are you ready?” she whispered, loathe to disturb a peaceful moment._ _

__The light from the desk lamp glinted off her gold-rimmed spectacles and the eerie glow of the open laptop carved out the hollows in her features. She looked tired too._ _

__At least they could be tired together._ _

__Patrick kissed the back of her hand, rubbing it softly with his thumb. “Yes, love. They should be here any minute.”_ _

__“Tim will be fine at home for an evening, won’t he?”_ _

__Patrick found himself smiling at the thought of their fifteen year old son being anything but fine with the place to himself. “He’s a responsible lad, Shelagh, he’ll be just fine. It’s not the first time, remember? In fact he’ll probably have dinner waiting on the table for when we get home.”_ _

__Shelagh grinned fondly. “He did make that superb lemon meringue pudding last week .”_ _

__“Mhmm. You never know, he may turn out to have a Gift yet.”_ _

__“Careful, Patrick, we don’t want to get his hopes up. You know as well as I that by the time they turn sixteen, there’s little chance of them displaying an ability.”_ _

__“I know.” Patrick squeezed his wife’s hand affectionately. “I just don’t want to see him go. Poplar is a Gifted community, there’s not much opportunity for him here. In a few years, he might not be able to stay.”_ _

__Shelagh gave a sad smile. It was a conversation they’d already had many times, and hoped to avoid many times more. She squeezed his hand back before letting go, leaning on her husband’s shoulder as she bent to get a closer look at the laptop screen._ _

__“Is this the video feed?”_ _

__Patrick sighed, returning his mind to business. “That’s the one.”_ _

__“You didn’t delete it?”_ _

__“The Sisters insisted that I didn’t.”_ _

__They shared a critical look, but did not comment further. They could not disregard an order, even if it broke a promise to a good friend. They were entangled in all of this just as much as the Sisters, after all._ _

__Sixteen years ago, Southeast Asia was a melting pot of political upheaval. Nonnatus was running an operation to rescue British nationals caught in the crossfire during a series of brutal civil wars, and the eventual anti-Gifted Japanese occupation._ _

__The Turners were recruited; Shelagh, a fresh-faced young thing, and Patrick, already a husband and father to be. It was the project on which they first met._ _

__Their task was to build a containment facility for the Japanese’s deadliest weapon. Only, that weapon had been a twelve year old girl._ _

__Patrick looked at the computer screen, at the woman that girl had become, paused; frozen in a pixelated slumber._ _

__His thoughts were interrupted by another, louder knock at the door._ _

__He rose, rolling down his shirtsleeves, and slid into his jacket._ _

__Shelagh stood to one side and they gave a final nod to one another before Patrick pulled the door open._ _

__“Sisters,” he smiled at his visitors, “please come in.”_ _

__~*~_ _

__Pleasantries aside, the small crowd inside Patrick Turner’s office stood around the desk, eyes fixed with pinched brows upon the video playing out there._ _

__On screen, Patsy Mount lay on her single mattress, in her concrete cell, limbs contorted in the throes of a bad nightmare, thrashing._ _

__There was no audio feed, and the footage rolled like a silent horror movie._ _

__They watched with clinical fascination as a familiar scene played out._ _

__Patsy’s form went rigid, arms locked to her sides with the palms facing upwards. Her hair began to fan out in a halo of static, and her body rose to hover inches above the mattress._ _

__And then a shockwave burst out of her with a single bodily convulsion. It expanded, visible only as a bubble of haze in the air, until it touched the perimeter of the chamber, shaking the camera in the adjacent room, and snapping back like a rubber band. Patsy’s body fell down, limp, onto the concrete block, which a moment before had borne her mattress. The mattress itself was gone; obliterated._ _

__All was still for another beat before the redhead began to rouse, eyes blinking wearily open._ _

__Patrick fast-forwarded the footage._ _

__Patsy spent the rest of the night curled into herself, in the corner of the cell, awake._ _

__Collectively, the group in the office let out a sigh._ _

__“She’s been like this every night since?” came Sister Julienne’s initial question._ _

__“Not every night,” Patrick was relieved to report. “It seems that she has been spending her evenings in fine company.”_ _

__The good doctor reduced the current video and pulled up a file with a more recent date. Winding forward on the footage, the Sisters were able to watch as Delia Busby bounced into the frame, wearing lavender pyjamas and a pair of Val’s old novelty slippers._ _

__Evangelina bent forward and peered at the screen. “Is that…?”_ _

__“Yes, it appears that Nurse Busby has struck up quite the friendship with Dr. Mount. She’s in there most evenings. But what is most wonderful, is that Patsy does not have nightmares on the nights that Miss Busby visits.”_ _

__“None at all?” Julienne questioned in surprise, to which Patrick hummed in agreement._ _

__“They don’t do more than talk and sometimes share a drink,” Shelagh elaborated, “But it seems that Delia’s presence has a calming effect on Patsy.”_ _

__They watched as Patrick fast-forwarded through the remaining footage which proved that Patsy did not stir from her bed._ _

__“Methinks Miss Busby shall spare our remaining mattresses from ruination.” Sister Monica Joan cut in gleefully, making Patrick startle. He had almost forgotten that she was there._ _

__“And where are you up to on your assessment of Dr. Mount’s health?” Julienne asked. Always business, this woman._ _

__“Well, we’ve already established that Patsy is physically fine,” Patrick assured, leaning back against his desk and crossing his arms._ _

__“But psychologically,” Shelagh interjected, adjusting her glasses, “There are some concerns, as you can see with the return of her nightmares. Now, this could just be a result of the trauma she has suffered. There are bound to be consequences; at the very least, a lack of confidence in her ability and control. However, Nurse Busby’s report about the Institute using a headset on her is worrying. It could very well have been a neural monitor, as she suggested, but it could easily have been more than that.”_ _

__“What are you implying?” Sister Evangelina demanded._ _

__“I’m saying,” Shelagh continued emphatically, “that they could have been manipulating her neural patterns. This would leave no physical trace, but could unlock a whole host of complications regarding her memory and sub-conscience.” Shelagh’s eyes cut meaningfully to Julienne._ _

__Julienne’s gaze bored into the doctor’s as she took a moment to read between the lines. “Dr. Turner, are you suggesting that they were trying to _alter_ Patsy’s memories?”_ _

__“No Sister, though it could be possible. What I am more worried about is that they were looking for something; something from her past that she may not remember consciously.”_ _

__Sister Julienne bowed her head, her habit shadowing her face. “This is exactly what we were guarding against all those years ago. We took great pains to ensure that Dr. Mount could not be used for information in such a way.”_ _

__“And I’m sure that the Institute was not successful, Sister. Nurse Busby likely interrupted more extreme attempts to salvage some answers from her.”_ _

__“It is worrying that The London was investigating Patsy at all,” Evangelina interjected, “Perhaps you should have a look for yourself, Sister Julienne?”_ _

__Shelagh seemed to grow paler in the artificial lighting, and Patrick stepped forward to rest a hand in the small of her back._ _

__“Sisters,” he said, “It is our professional opinion that we need to continue monitoring Patsy’s progress closely, but invading her mind any more at this point would likely cause more harm than good.”_ _

__Shelagh nodded, looking to her husband gratefully before turning back to the serious faces of the three nuns._ _

__“She clearly hasn’t had any shocking revelations yet, but her dreams might throw up some images from her past. It could be that The London were simply trying to understand her defensive instincts. We do not know their end goal, so it is very hard to determine what they were trying to achieve until Patsy starts exhibiting signs. She may not. But we need to be prepared for whatever may come.”_ _

__Shelagh twisted to face the computer screen once again, where the redhead was frozen in sleep. “For now, she seems to be doing well, and her friendship with Nurse Busby is good for her.”_ _

__As she spoke, Sister Monica Joan approached the screen, slipping on a pair of coke-bottle glasses. Blinking incongruously, she took her pointer finger and jabbed the re-wind key, pausing the video by luck alone on a frame with the two women in it._ _

__They’d pulled the mattress to the floor and were sat side-by-side, resting their backs against the concrete block. Delia had her hand on Patsy’s knee, clearly engrossed in telling some story or other while Patsy blushed happily._ _

__“Were Psyche and Eros merely friends,” the older woman declared, “Pleasure would not exist in the world.”_ _

__The others in the room looked at her, not knowing what to say to that._ _

__Patrick cleared his throat awkwardly._ _

__“Very well,” Julienne stated eventually, pondering something with her finger on her chin. “Dr. Mount did allow me to assess her with my telepathy in those first few days of her return. Nothing troubling came to light then, which means that we may have no cause for concern now. As you said: only time will tell. It is my greatest hope that Operation Midwife is successful in unearthing the Institute’s wider designs. For now, let us all get some rest.”_ _

__Sister Julienne had spoken._ _

__The Turners collected themselves, eager for the conclusion of another uncomfortable meeting._ _

__Patrick’s thoughts wandered to home; to their cozy living room and the smell of Tim’s cooking greeting them as they entered the door. He thought of the concrete cell they’d built Patsy and the nights she spent without even a mattress, seeking contact from the cold walls._ _

__“With your permission, Sister, we’d like to shut down the observation camera. We promised Dr. Mount her privacy, and with all due respect, it’s the least she deserves.”_ _

__A moment of unspoken communication passed between Julienne and Evangelina, before the superior nodded her assent. “Dr. Mount has shown herself stable enough, I believe, to make her own decision, should she wish to relocate to more comfortable quarters.”_ _

__Evangelina’s stern countenance creased slightly. “She’s a good kid.” She shook her head, turning for the exit, hooking her arm into Monica Joan’s. “The world can be a cruel place.”_ _

__“That it can, Sister. That it can.” Patrick agreed, moving to hold the office door for them. “Goodnight.”_ _

__When the trio had swept out into the night, the Turners let out a heavy breath._ _

__“Come on,” Patrick said softly, tilting his head to the open door way, “Let’s go home.”_ _


End file.
